Refuse to Fall
by Eleavir
Summary: It is a Prussia centric story of two agonized German brothers. Russia is not helping, either. Timeline runs from AD1871 when Germany came to being to post cold war. Non-slash. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

_Special thanks go to my BETA reader mdono. You're awesome! :D_

_This is my first English fan fiction. Please be kind. :)_

Refuse to Fall

1.

The first time when Gilbert heard Ludwig calling his name, it felt like a soft nudge on his war-hardening heart.

"Prussia," the young boy with blond hair said with a warm smile. Each letter danced on the tip of his tongue before it was spoken.

"Will you be guarding me, protecting me and guiding me now and forever?"

"Till the very last of my breath, my Prince."

Gilbert promised with his right hand resting on his left chest. It was the most solemn oath he had ever taken in his life. He had been a fearsome knight with no Master, a loner with no friends, and an oath-breaker who would change side without hesitation. He did not understand the meaning of the word "sincere" until this moment.

Gilbert loved his younger brother. He loved Ludwig even before he met him. He loved him more than anything he knew. Such passionate feeling was a whole new experience to him. It was beyond his comprehension and even the most rational thoughts could not offer a sensible explanation. Then he simply shrugged and let it slip.

"You brought me to this world and crowned me, Prussia. For this I shall be for ever in your debt."

"You do not owe me any debt, my Prince. You are here because it was your wish to come to exist. You are Germany, the greatest empire on this continent. Nations bow to you. You bow to no one. "

Ludwig smiled, "Will you show me, then, how to become as strong and powerful as you are? Maybe I do not need to bow to anyone, yet I'm still a child who has to look up to everyone else. I'm eager to grow up."

"And grow up you will," assured Gilbert. "Practice with me. Fight alongside my army. I shall teach you everything you need to know. "He then took the boy's hand, leading him towards the Hall of Mirrors.

"A beautiful place for coronation, is it not? Now, since we're already at Versailles I suppose it's a good time for you to receive respectful greetings from my old _friend_ France. How I miss his mellifluous speeches after the last defeat I handed over to him. I have no doubt he has lots to say to you. Just remember this, my Prince: Whatever he says, do not lower your sights."

"Do not lower my sights—that I shall do."

"You are Germany. You rise above all the nations and peoples. Do not ever lower your sights."

-----------------------

Many years had gone by since the German coronation at Versailles, France. Each day, Gilbert could see Ludwig grow more and more powerful. The young empire was no longer a little boy, but rather a young man with sturdy muscles on his arms, who had a penchant for reading and fighting more than anything else. Wherever Gilbert went, Ludwig would follow, and vice versa. For a time the two were as close as twins. Gilbert saw himself as the protective big brother, yet at times he made Ludwig hurt and bleed so he would learn how to endure the pain.

"Pain is not your enemy," said Gilbert, with blood still dripping down from the tip of his sword. "See it as your friend. It keeps you awake and alert. It helps you realize where the problem lies."

Ludwig winced when he probed the fresh wound on his left arm. His sword was laying at his feet.

"Friend? Surely it is not as lovely as Hungary," he mumbled, trying to close the wound with his fingers. Blood soon stained his right hand.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"Hungary? Were you thinking of her? Is it why you were being so clumsy this whole morning? Look at your moves! A dancing cow can move more elegantly than you!"

"Ouch, that hurts," Ludwig grimaced, making his best efforts to look offended. The pain from his arm helped.

Gilbert frowned, then reluctantly he dropped his sword. Sitting down on a tree stump, he gestured his brother to move closer.

"Come over. Let me see to your wound."

"Don't bother. I'm enjoying the blissful moment with my beloved friend."

"I said, Come. Over."

"Okay."

Soon Ludwig was sitting on the grass just beside Gilbert's feet. He folded his legs, trying to make himself more comfortable. Gilbert's hands were working on his left arm. His fingers gently touched the skin around the open cut with a sympathetic tenderness that was normally not seen in his character.

Ludwig felt somewhat uneasy. This was not how he was supposed to be treated after "a painful lesson," in which Gilbert and him both would ignore the wounds and get on with their practice. Gilbert rarely took care of his wound personally. He thought his big brother was a tough-love believer. The moment of silence lasted too long. Ludwig began to feel nervous. He desperately wanted Gilbert to say something harsh, something the ruthless knight would always say, something Ludwig was used to hearing.

But no, silence continued ruling over this little space between the two brothers. It seemed Gilbert decided to keep his mouth shut.

Ludwig cleared his throat.

"Well, I was thinking... maybe I could... you know, have some friends, real friends. Not pains."

He quickly added. His face blushed a bit.

Gilbert stopped for a moment and looked at him.

"Friends are not necessary," he replied calmly. "You have me."

"You're different, Prussia. You're like... part of me. I want to befriend someone else. Someone like, maybe Austria or Italy? In case I go to war, I know there are my friends I can count on..."

"Don't make me laugh. Have you already forgotten what I have taught you? The only one you can count on in this world is yourself. Friendship is for losers. Allies can turn into enemies and stab you in the back. Didn't I tell you how easy it was to betray and sell one's so-called friend for a better price? Each country is for himself. Can't you see?"

"But look at Poland and Lithuania. Their jointed force even defeated you. Remember? "

"And Poland is dead. His land is mine."

"Well... there's Sweden and Finland..."

"Finland is taken over by Russia. Like I said, friendship is for losers." Gilbert said firmly, with his thou-shalt-not-argue-with-me voice. Unfortunately, Ludwig, like Gilbert himself, was not quick to surrender.

"That is ridiculous! I'm a powerful empire, which grants me the right to do whatever I like. I said I wanted friends, then I should have friends. Betrayal or not is not my concern. I choose nations I like. They don't have to return the favor. "

"Then you are the dumbest country I've ever known. Even dumber than Poland."

"That's not nice."

"And one day when, inevitably, you're betrayed by your _friends_. I'll be there to laugh in your face and say 'I told you so.'"

The German's pride was jeopardized. He sneered back without thinking. "Come on, Prussia. Just because you cannot get along with others doesn't mean other countries are like you. It doesn't mean I have to be like you!"

There was a fierce storm forming in the deep of Gilbert's crimson eyes. His face darkened. His voice hardened.

"Very well then. Be it your way," he spat those words as if they were saturated with venom, then he shoved the blonde aside, making his way back to his horse. "Today's practice is over. You're dismissed," Gilbert said without looking back. Then he mounted the horse and took off. Ludwig was left alone on the meadow, feeling both confused and frustrated.

-----------------------

The next day Ludwig was already starting to regret. Not that he thought he should be an all-by-myself type of loner just like Gilbert. Deep in his heart the young empire still longed for friendship. He, however, thought what he yelled to Gilbert at the end of their unpleasant conversation was not only rude but also inappropriate.

After all, Gilbert was the one who raised him up. He was more than a brother to him. Ludwig decided he should apologize.

He found Gilbert in the Meeting Chamber of their palace. Before he could express himself, his brother passed a map to him and suggested he should take a look.

"What's this about?"

Ludwig directed his attention to the map, on which some red lines had been drawn at certain areas. It even had a few footnotes on it.

Gilbert was looking at him straight in the eyes. His facial expressions did not give away his current mood. He looked calm, perhaps a bit indifferent, but there was not a trace of anger in his voice. The storm in his eyes had dissipated.

"If you want a friend, may I suggest it be Russia?"

"Why Russia?"

"He is the most powerful empire to our east. After the partitions of Poland we are connected by my side, which makes it much more convenient for him to attack us if he chooses to. We should consider ourselves fortunate for he has been benign to us," he pointed to one of the red lines on the map. "On the other hand, it would be to our advantage to have Russia watch our back if we become allies, so that when we go to war against other countries we can focus our force on a single front."

"Right. And you don't think Russia is as likely to stab in our back. Where did that allies-can-turn-into-enemies idea go? Thought you were quite persistent on that one."

Gilbert bit his lower lip slightly. He seemed rather uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

"I hate to mention this but... Russia never betrayed me. He proved to be reliable, a much more accountable country than England or France. For the past two centuries we've been... well, let's just say he and I have established mutual respect for each other. Why are you laughing?"

"Dear God," Ludwig couldn't help but grin. "My ears must be fooling me. Did you just say Russia is your _friend_?"

"No!" Gilbert growled, looking more upset than embarrassed. "I do NOT consider him as my friend. How can you befriend someone who can beat you senseless whenever he pleases? I was just saying he had accountability."

"Which reminds me," Ludwig nodded. "That there was one time when Russia had beaten the hell out of you, before you two started that _reliable relationship._ Then he saved you when you thought you were going to die and helped you defeat other enemies. Is that why you are so fond of him?"

Ludwig was thoroughly amused. He chuckled and lowered his eyes to study the map again, completely missing the embarrassing blush spreading across his brother's face.

"I am not fond of RUSSIA. Damn it. This is not about ME. It is you who crave for nonsense friendship like a baby crying for his mother's breast!"

"Ah. So you still disapprove."

Gilbert glared at him, his voice a bit shaking due to his barely restrained rage.

"I have lived long enough to tell a danger when I see one. I am your protector. I'll do anything for you to keep you away from harm. Is it so hard to understand? I can't help you if you continue acting arrogantly and—"

"I'm not the little child I used to be. Not any more. Prussia, I appreciate your concern but you are just over protective at times. Look at me. I'm big and strong. I can take care of myself. I can make decisions and face consequences. I can take responsibility for my own action. Please, Prussia, just have faith in me, alright?"

"I always have faith in you but this is..."

"Then be true to your words and let me choose my paths."

Ludwig insisted. He knew exactly he was pushing Gilbert to his limits. He didn't know what Gilbert would think or feel. He could not care less. The young empire was determined to win this argument if he wanted to break free from the control of his big brother.

He completely forgot the reason why he came to this chamber in the first place.

To apologize.

It looked as if Gilbert was going to explode. Ludwig braced himself and waited. He could see the angry flush on Gilbert's face, which also made his ears and neck red. His left hand was tightly grabbing the sword hilt hanging on his belt. Ludwig suddenly realized, with much remorse, that he had left his own weapon somewhere else.

"Please, Prussia," the blond youth pleaded softly.

To his relief, Gilbert slowly relaxed his fingers. His left hand fell to the side of his still tensed body.

"My Prince," with a sigh Gilbert spoke in a weary voice. "Of course you can make your own decisions. If only you can have alliance with Russia, I shall say no more objections."

The last sentence sounded more like a plea than a request. Knowing Gilbert finally gave in to him, Ludwig smiled with triumph. He knew he was going to win this.

"I don't think so," he said.

Gilbert stared at him, looking utterly lost.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been thinking these days," explained Ludwig, pointing to the map. "As I made my observations, I concluded Austria would be a more suitable candidate. He is close to us culturally and geographically. He is not only a powerful empire, but also a combination of two strong nations. Thanks to his marriage with Hungary, one alliance with Austria will automatically bring Hungary to our side as well. Besides, I find his music rather enjoyable. "

"What about Russia?"

"Never mind about Russia. Austria hates him. I have to make a choice. Hell, everyone in Europe hates Russia, maybe except you, and you pretend to hate him too. He's weird, don't you think? He's full of contradictions. No one could understand him, not even himself. Frankly, I don't want that guy on my side. He gives me goose bumps. I wonder why you two could get alone, but what do I know? Maybe the resemblance of your names gives him a kindred feeling?"

Ludwig laughed at his own joke, ignoring the hurt expression flashing across his brother's face. He was too absorbed by his own victory.

"What if..." Gilbert finally said, struggling for words. "What if I tell you Austria and I have issues? We have been disputing and fighting against each other for centuries. We loathe each other. We hate each other. We would have put each other to death if we could. I fought hard to exclude him from being a part of you. I, I..."

"Don't worry, Prussia. I'll take care of it. Everything is going to be fine," the blond youth said enthusiastically, touching his brother's arm with reassurance. His blue eyes gleamed with hope and joy. Gilbert said nothing. He just stared at Ludwig, long and hard.

Such unusual silence was unnoticed by the younger brother as he was mesmerized by the future laying ahead of him. Now that he was free to choose his own path, he would definitely walk on the Great Path that would lead him to becoming an empire as glorious as Ancient Rome used to be. He would make correct choice at each crossroad, and victories would always be at his side. He knew he would because there was no way he could be wrong.

Because he was born to be perfect.

Because he was Germany.

Ludwig hugged and kissed his brother on the cheek before he left the chamber. He hummed a few notes, his strides were swift, and his spirit was sky high. Like an inexperienced general who thought he was going to win the war after winning the first battle, he was confident on what he was about to do next.

He was going to conquer the world.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

_Thank you, mdono, for betaing for me. :)_

2.

Gilbert did not have the chance to laugh at Ludwig when Feliciano Vargas and his brother Lovino decided to turn against the German and his allies. Gilbert was, at that time, fighting Ivan Braginski with all he had. Ludwig's preference over Roderich Edelstein enraged the Russian. Not long after the war broke out he invaded the East Prussia and took over Koenigsberg, the most vital place to Gilbert. He had to leave his younger brother at the west front and rushed back to defend himself.

The Prussian fought as hard as he could. Ivan had been the toughest enemy he ever had to encounter with. When his right arm was pierced by the Russian's bayonet he suddenly remembered the Seven Years War like it just happened yesterday. He remembered how it felt when Ivan's sword was placed on his throat, the icy cold blade touching his warm skin. He closed his eyes in despair, waiting for the final strike to come.

Instead of a death blow, a soft kiss fell on his lips, a kiss that tasted strangely like Vodka. Gilbert opened his eyes in disbelief, only to see Ivan was smiling, a smile that reminded him of those beautiful sunflowers blooming over the vast fields across the Russian Plain.

"Come on, Prussia, did you really think I was going to kill you?" He laughed lightheartedly. "You're too much fun to kill. Just looking at you makes me...warm. I like being warm, you know."

"Then...why did you fight against me?" Gilbert asked in shock, still trying to gather himself up.

"Oh, that," Ivan answered casually. "I felt an urge to prove my superiority over you. Now you see: I'm the stronger one. " He grinned, then extended his hand toward Gilbert, helping him get back on his feet.

"Come," the Russian beamed cheerfully. "Let's trample on your pitiful enemies. We have a big surprise for them."

------------------

Gilbert threw away his empty-loaded rifle, drawing his sword for a melee combat.

"Get out of _my_ land!" He yelled as he charged into Ivan.

"No!" The Russian yelled back. "Yield this land to me! Yield yourself to me!"

"_Never!_"

They fought like beasts. Sword to sword, fist to fist. They rolled in mud till both of them were covered in dirt and blood.

"Yield!" Ivan shouted as he pinned down his opponent to the ground with his bulky arms, making it hard for him to breathe.

"N-No!"

The Prussian was trying desperately to reach for his sword lying not far away from his position. He could not give up right here, right now. His brother was fighting at the west, all alone facing the coalition of the English, the French, and the American. He could not lose. He would not. He would safe guard the east and return to his brother to fight with him side by side. After all, he was the protector of Germany.

Then his fingers touched something pointy and sharp. Without a second thought he thrust it into Ivan's side. Almost instantly he felt something warm damped his hand.

"Aaarrgh!"

The Russian cried out in pain. His strength weakened. Gilbert didn't miss the opportunity to strike back, punching and kicking till Ivan fell off his body. He quickly grabbed his sword and stood up, breathing heavily while his enemy was crawling on the ground, bleeding from the wound on his waist. Only then did Gilbert have the time to look at what he used to inflict the pain.

A bayonet.

He averted his eyes from the bloodstained weapon. "Get. Out. Or. Die," he threatened, with his sword pointing at Ivan's direction. The Russian lifted up his face. His violet eyes were moist with agony and sadness .

"Why did you hurt me like that, Prussia?" He asked in a small voice.

"Get. Out. Or. Die," Gilbert repeated himself. He clenched the sword so hard it started to hurt his palm. He forced himself to look into those sad eyes, in full knowledge that he was going to be haunted by them in his nightmares.

Then sadness turned into apathy. Ivan's expression grew cold as his winter always was.

"Sometimes," he said, slowly rising up from the ground. "I miss the good old days when you were being nice and making me happy. It all changed after you brought Germany into being. Sometimes, I thought I made a wrong choice for letting you fulfill your wish. I knew you always wanted to have Germany. I would like to make you happy too so I let you. I granted you a safe east so you could put all your strengths to fight others. Prussia, I am not used to being kind. You were an exception and see how that repaid me?"

Ivan brought his blood-soaked hand closer to his face. He looked lost for a moment, and then he laughed and licked the blood off his fingers. His lips turned into scarlet.

"You're being silly," snorted Gilbert. He tried to laugh too but the muscles on his face refused to cooperate. "No one can be trusted. You should have known better."

"Please, save me the common sense. " Ivan chuckled, only the merriness in his voice did not reach his frosty eyes. "Let me assure you this: I am going to crush Germany. He is no fun at all, and he makes you dull. That's no good, Prussia. No good. I want the old you back so you and I can be happy together again. Ah, it's such a good idea to kill Germany," he nodded approvingly.

"Only over my dead body!" Gilbert seethed with anger. He readied himself for another fight, but Ivan just paused. Then he tilted his head like a child observing his new toy.

"Why not? Maybe that's a good idea, too."

With that he laughed and turned, walking away from the battlefield.

------------------

"The coalition army is nothing against my mighty force. I deliver defeat to them battle after battle. I think I'm winning. I think we're winning. I can't wait to have you savour this moment of joy with me. Promise me you will return to me as soon as you can. With love."

Reading Ludwig's letters was always a pleasure for Gilbert. He could tell from the sloppiness of the handwriting his brother wrote those letters during the short break between battles.

Gilbert knew the west front was not as victorious as Ludwig claimed it to be. His brother only wrote him good news. He never mentioned Italy's betrayal, not a single word. The young empire was just too proud to admit.

The Prussian stretched a little on his chair. The Russian army finally withdrew from the east, and he knew exactly why.

A revolution just broke out in Saint Petersburg.

And his dirty hands were behind this.

A short while ago Gilbert subtly helped a certain Russian-exile go back to his homeland. He was hoping that person could serve as a diversion, a backfire, a stormbringer, so long as he could keep Ivan at bay. He knew how badly it was going to harm his once-ally. Or at least he thought he did. The consequence was more than he or anyone else for that matter could foresee, and Ivan was never the same again.

At first he thought it would be a difficult decision to make. It was not.

Because he was thinking of Ludwig, and then his mind became clear and calm. His brother was everything to him. He vowed to kill, to lie, and to die just for him.

Then the decision was made, as easy as it should be.

He thought about Ivan for a moment before he pushed that name into the back of his mind. He then took a fountain pen to write a correspondence to his brother. On the letter he jotted down only two sentences.

"The east is secured. I'm on my way."

Then he sealed the letter with his Prussian seal.

We're going to win this war. He thought, looking west.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

_Thank you, mdono, for betaing for me. :)_

3.

"According to our previous agreement, the land of Prussia is to be annexed and he is taken under custody of Poland. The detainee shall answer to his guardian and fulfill his every request with unconditional obedience. The treaty becomes effective immediately."

Ludwig felt as if he were slapped on the face. Rage was burning through his eyes. He banged his fists on the table and yelled objection.

"We have no such agreement! Gentlemen, I suggest a reconsideration of the treaty _with_ my presence."

"I agree. Excluding Germany, Austria and Hungary from the negotiation process was not heroic by any measure." Alfred stopped eating a hamburger and shrugged. Arthur pinched him and hushed "be quiet."

Francis smiled, looking very pleased with himself.

"Duly noted and ignored," he said in a sing-song voice. "Dear Poland, please come over to claim your trophy."

"With pleasure," the newly reborn country snickered at Gilbert's direction. His eyes glimmered with malicious vengeance. He had been waiting for this moment for too long.

"This is retaliation!" The German snapped.

"Indeed."

A frustrated Ludwig made Francis wanted to hum the Ode to Joy. It all started at Versailles. It would end here too. Coronation at someone else's palace was sure a good start of a healthy relationship.

"No...no. You have no right to take Prussia away from me!"

"Oh trust me, we have. As a matter of fact, since you have lost the Great War we can practically do whatever we please to you and your brother. However," the French winked as if an interesting thought just came across his mind. "I can be generous at times. Here's an alternative proposal for you. Instead of Prussia receiving all the punishment, his beloved little brother, Germany, shall dissolve himself and never be resurrected."

Someone gasped. Alfred spoke up before everyone else reacted.

"'That's enough. I refuse to be part of this unfairness. You Europeans' psychology is beyond me." He seemed annoyed and disgusted. "I came to rescue in the name of justice, but I see no justice in this room. Don't you realize you are creating more problems instead of solving one? Since my voice is unheard, there is no reason for me to sit through and witness this humiliation of another country. I'm leaving for America."

With that said he stood up and left the chamber. Francis only shrugged.

"American," he sneered, then turning his eyes toward the German brothers. "Well?"

Gilbert had not said a word since they both entered the chamber. He was standing behind Ludwig's chair, with his right hand firmly placed on his brother's shoulder for comforting and emotional support. Now his grip tightened.

"I accept the punishment," he said briefly. "I shall leave with Poland."

"No, Prussia! Don't!"

The tone in his brother's voice was a mixture of desperation and dread. He squeezed Gilbert's hand hard.

"Don't give in. There must be some other solution...there has to be! I...we are going to fight this together. You're not going anywhere. I need you by my side. I need..."

"There's no more fight, Bruder."

Gilbert sighed, and cupped his brother's face with his hands. The face of the young man bore little resemblance to that of the child, whom once had such a sweet voice and enjoyed running around him as if he were his Sun and stars. Since when did he stop following him? Since when did he grow taller and bulkier than him?

Then he remembered the day when his younger brother proudly announced he could take care of himself and face consequences. It did not occur to Ludwig that consequences not only happen to him but also to the ones he cared.

"Did you forget what I have taught you, you potato head?" Gilbert said, gently stroked the blond bang covering Ludwig's brow, pushing it backward. He kneeled before Ludwig's seat, his forehead touching his.

"Endure the pain. Treat it like your friend. Only then will you learn how to pick yourself up from the fall."

"B-But I need you! You are an inseparable part of me!"

"I am and always will be," assured the Prussian. "Regardless of where I am taken to, this I want you to remember."

"I...I'm so sorry, Prussia. I shouldn't have lost. I let you down. I let them take you away. I...it's all my fault. I'm not competent. I'm not worthy. I'm not an..."

"Never. Never say those words again. You are not to blame. You fought well, Bruder, better than I expected. Things went out of control and it was not your fault." He caressed his brother affectionately,"Now wipe your face before I leave. Don't let others see your tears. You are Germany. You do not cry."

------------------

Gilbert walked toward Felix Łukasiewicz, who was waiting by the entrance with a smirk on his face. When he passed by Roderich he paused for a moment. His long-time rival had been sitting at the corner of the table, quiet as a dried up well. He looked normal, only paler.

"Where is Hungary?" Gilbert thought he should ask.

Roderich looked him in the eyes. "A lady like her should never receive such humiliation, do you not agree? I persuaded her to stay at home."

The Prussian never thought of Elizaveta Héderváry as a lady, or anywhere close to that title. When they were both young she had beaten him countless times, with courage and strength no less than a man. Only this time Gilbert did not feel like it to argue.

"I feel sorry for you, Austria," he said softly. The once-greatest empire was not only reduced to a small nation, but also forced to divorce his beloved wife. He had suffered too much from the loss of the war.

"And I for you, Mister," Roderich nodded slightly. The corner of his lips curled into a shallow smile. "I hope you manage well."

"No doubt. It's not the first time I have to stick with Poland. I survived, didn't I?" He shrugged, pretending not to care. Roderich stared at him, but his sights were focused on some place far, far away.

"Sometimes, Prussia," he said with a sigh. "I reminisce about the days when you were my only rival. When we fought each other relentlessly to gain control over the future Germany. We had hope then. A hope that foretold us our younger brother was destined to become the most admirable empire on this land. All Germanic states were to be united under his command, and we should never again be laughed at, be trampled on and looked down upon by other countries simply because we could not speak in one voice. You were the winner so tell me, Prussia, did the hope desert us, or was it just a mirage to trick us into believing?"

Gilbert was silent. Then he spoke with his chin high.

"The hope is still there. Germany is young. He is allowed to make mistakes and learn from them. There is enough time for him to mature and become what we want him to become. There is also enough time for you to sit around and reminisce."

------------------

Ludwig was the last to exit the Meeting Chamber. At the gate he was greeted unexpectedly by a country that he had wished never to see again.

"Rus...Soviet, what are you doing here?" He asked, not bothering to hide the aversion in his tone. He had been holding a grudge against the recently reformed country ever since the attempted November Revolution, which he _believed_ to be the reason that caused him to lose the Great War.

Ivan smiled at him. He dressed differently than before, with a red star shinning on his left chest. He was refused by the West to join the meetings because of his new status as a communist country. An outcast just like Ludwig was, though for different reasons.

"I just saw Prussia leave with Poland. Did you lose him?" He smiled innocently.

"I'm not going to talk to you."

"Oh, but you are," the smile on Ivan's face broadened into a grin. "Because you want your brother back, and I can help."

Ludwig paused to listen. "What can you offer me?" He asked suspiciously.

"_That_ entirely depends on what," the taller one stepped closer, throwing his arm around Ludwig's shoulder in an intimate manner, "y_ou_ can offer me. Come, young one, let's drink Vodka and talk it over at my place."

The German hesitated. He tried to push the Russian away as he was making him uncomfortable. "You know I do not trust you."

"Does it matter? Your brother must have taught you," Ivan laughed, pulling Ludwig toward where he came from, "that no country can be trusted. It's not about trust. It's never about trust. It's _need_ that brings us together. You need me as much as I need you. Now come, have a drink. We have a long night to spend."


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

_Reviews are welcomed! _

_Author's notes: _

_I'm not satisfied with this chapter. I don't like the characerization I gave to Poland. It was superfacial and lame. _

_When I write this story I have to remind myself I'm not writing a historical fiction, but a fanfic of Hetalia. For the last three chapters I did not make much reference to the manga. So in this and the next chapter, I'll have to incorporate some of the scenes from the manga into my story. If you have read the webcomics from the author of Hetalia, you'll see where those references come from. :) _

_And, again, I'm not satisfied with this chapter. I just want to get it over with and start writing chapter 6. That's right, chapter 6. Chapter 5 will just be fluffy and sappy since I decide to give poor Gilbert a dip of happiness before his life goes straight down to hell._

_Enough of me. Let's get on with the story. _

4.

The days when Gilbert was under the custody of Felix were not as unbearable as he had expected, perhaps because he had learnt how to cope with such predicament when he was forced into submission and became a vassal of Felix more than three centuries ago. Only that time he was saved by Branden, who took his hand and claimed him his legitimated spouse. It was the first and only marriage Gilbert had ever committed to in his life.

Felix hated him with a passion. After all, Gilbert was the promoter of the annexation of the land of Poland for not only one time but_ three _times, which inevitably led to the demise of that country. He would hate himself too if he were Felix.

Days passed by without a trace. There was not a single day when he did not think of his younger brother. He could rarely hear from Ludwig other than what Felix chose to tell him, which always the bad news since the Pole just loved to see Gilbert upset.

"Germany is sick," one day Felix mentioned casually. "They say he has not been able to get up from his bed for months. Isn't that a great news?" He gloated, taking pleasure from the other's misery.

Gilbert kept his mouth shut, trying his best to ignore the malicious comments. He continued with the ranch duties he was assigned to earlier. He had to finish his work before he was allowed to have some food. But Felix determined not to leave him in peace.

"Why don't you laugh? Laugh with me, you bastard!" His whip cracked on his back once, twice, thrice. "_Laugh!_"

When the whip fell down again the Prussian caught it with his bare hand. He glared at Felix, a warning tone in his voice. "Don't."

"Are you telling me what to do? Are you?"

A knock on the front door relieved Gilbert from the intensified situation. Felix gave him a dirty look before he went to answer it. "Go back to your room. It seems I'll have to teach you a lesson of obedience later."

He smirked, and then opened the front door. Arthur and Francis were standing at the porch, looking anxious.

"We need to talk," said the French.

"It is urgent," the English added.

---------------

Gilbert went, of course, not to his room. When he saw the expression on the guests' face in a glance he decided at once this was something he had to know. Being grounded in the House of Poland for twenty years and responsible for all the chores gave him a thorough understanding of this place. He quickly found a secret path that led him to the ceiling of the living room where the conversation was held. He crawled on the ceiling till he found a spot where the sound from the living room could be heard clearly.

Then he heard his brother's name.

"Germany is planning an attack on me? Oh come on, " Felix laughed as if it was the joke of the year. "He could barely move. Last time I checked, he was too ill to pass the door of his own bedroom!"

His guests exchanged a worried glance.

"He was. I'm afraid he's been doing much better now since his new boss came to power." Arthur pointed out.

"So? What can he do with his puny army anyway? The treaty has stripped him off with virtually nothing left."

"That we cannot be certain," said Francis. "I've heard he has been close - very close - to the Soviet. The Communist has been generously offering him those raw materials for building up an army."

"Speaking of which, Leit passed me a note a few days ago saying the Soviet was scheming a fourth partition on me. Ha ha ha."

"And your response was?"

"What response? Hey, calm down, there will never be a fourth partition. Leit was just being paranoid. Why don't we drink some tea and enjoy the afternoon sunshine? Cookies, anyone?"

Gilbert listened carefully, not wanting to miss a word. His heart was pounding in his chest vigorously, beating and screaming of hope and joy. Felix didn't think Ludwig was serious, but he knew his brother better. He had passed on all his knowledge to him, including the trick he had used on Napoleonic France after he was shamefully defeated. Even under the strict restrictions imposed upon his military sector, Gilbert still managed to develop a powerful army and finally took his revenge. The trick lost its prestige after it was revealed, but Ludwig had grasped the concept and was applying it to his advantage.

The conversation dragged on. When Francis and Arthur eventually realized they failed to let Felix understand the seriousness of the situation no matter what they said, they decidedly gave up and bid farewell to the Pole, with the look that one usually gave to a deceased person.

---------------

It happened faster than one could spell out the word "Blitzkrieg". Gilbert had been grounded in a barn for his last "disobedient behaviour" for days, where the walls were high and no windows to let him tell a day from midnight. He couldn't remember since when he lost count of the days.

An explosion startled him. Then he saw one of the walls collapse and upon the rubble a German tank drive in. He had to cover his eyes from the stinging sunlight pouring through the huge hole. Then he blinked, and blinked; amidst a cloud of dust a familiar tall figure jumped out of the tank and strode toward him hastily.

"Prussia!"

His name was called by a voice that he had been hearing and echoing in all his dreams during the past twenty years. Ludwig was standing right there, with a Mauser in his right hand and arms open wide, and a big grin on his face.

"Come, Bruder, time to go home."

After that Gilbert didn't remember much as all the senses suddenly blurred together. He heard a voice screaming nonsense in hysteria, and didn't recognize it was his own. He guffawed and punched his brother on the chest, hugging and cuddling him till he finally ensured himself it was not yet another dream. Then he smiled and felt something burning behind his eyes.

"Yes. Yes, Bruder. Let's go home."

---------------

His mind was wandering off somewhere when someone knocked the door of the bathroom.

"Prussia, it's me. I've brought you a change of clothes. May I come in or do you prefer them to be left outside by the door?"

"Bring them in . . . if you please," Gilbert answered carelessly, burying himself underneath the bath bubbles. Ludwig walked in, putting down the new clothes on a stool beside the tub. He then took out a necklace from his pocket, an iron cross glistering in his palm. Gilbert watched him put it down on top of the pile of clothes.

"That's something I haven't seen in years," he said in a cheerful voice. "Wait, is that an uniform?"

"Yes. I picked the one with Prussian blue especially for you. Thought you might like it."

"I do. Danke." Gilbert sat up crouching on the side of the tub to go over the clothes his brother brought him.

"Don't mention it. Oh and by the way, I need to leave the house to . . ." Ludwig paused abruptly as he noticed the ugly bruises and old scars on Gilbert's back. When he spoke again his voice was coarse from anger. "_God forbid_-Just what did that filthy bastard do to you?"

"Huh? Oh, that," the Prussian laid back and buried himself under the bubbles again. "It was nothing. I have seen worse." He waved his hand dismissively. But Ludwig decided not to let it slip. He approached his brother, squeezing the other's shoulder assertively.

"Let me see your back."

"Nah."

"I insist."

"Relax, Bruder. I'm back. It's over. Let's move on and live happily ever after," he said with a smile that was begging for understanding. Ludwig stared at him for a moment. Then he sighed, a sound that made Gilbert's heart twitch a little.

"As you wish," the younger one said reluctantly. Gilbert chuckled at him.

"That's my boy. Now proceed with your schedule. I'll be fine on my own. Will you be back for dinner?"

"I'm not sure, "Ludwig said, still somewhat frustrated. "I need to find Austria and bring him back. He's successfully lost himself again. "

That was unexpected.

"Who died and made you _his _nanny?" Gilbert deadpanned.

"I suppose it becomes my responsibility to take care of every inhabitant in my house?" Ludwig suggested hopefully, only to see the bewilderedness spreading across Gilbert's face. Then it finally dawned on him.

"You didn't know I proposed to Austria about a year and a half ago and he's been living with me since then, did you?"

"You did _what_?"

Ludwig was glad his easily irritable brother was now in a bath tub instead of having his sword and rifle with him. He thought he had made quite a few changes during the past twenty years, being more mature and prudent as he finally learnt to rely on his own judgments when Gilbert was away. Yet when he had to face the cold rage from his brother he still stuttered like the young child he used to be.

"A p-proposal . . . you know . . . for marriage?" He raised his hands in defense. "Hey, hey. It was a failed attempt anyway. I asked and he accepted. If not for the objections from France and Italy we would have been married by now. Things got a little complicated after that so we decided he should just move in and live with me. He's not a bad companion, Bruder. You'll like him, too. I hope? Aside from the habit of breaking every kitchenware when he cooks and having no sense of directions, he is a pleasant nation to live with."

"And there was a reason I had to isolate him from you," Gilbert ground his teeth.

"Maybe there was, but things do change," Ludwig argued, caressing his brother's wet hair to soothe his temper. "Time has changed, so do we. We can't just stick to the out-of-date principles instead of making plausible decisions. We all have to sacrifice something for the higher cause. I could befriend the Soviet even though it is clear to both of us that we despise each other. Why can't you just accept Austria and let the old grudge between you two be forgotten?"

There were no more objections from Gilbert. Apparently he was sulking, but knowing him Ludwig would say his brother acquiesced. He smiled and, before he turned to leave, patted the Prussian on the head the same way the older one used to do to him. Gilbert frowned, not being accustomed to such intimate gesture. But he didn't object to that, either.

"It must have been hard for you," Gilbert said offhandedly. "For having to rely on the Soviet and ask for his favor."

Ludwig paused at the door. "No, not at all." He looked back at his brother. His blue eyes were calm and unreadable. "I simply asked myself what would you do if you were in my place. I'd say it was one of the easiest decisions I ever had to make."

_note: _

_Branden: it is my not-so-creative take on the personified name for Brandenburg. Pretty obvious, eh?_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

5.

Gilbert was surprised to find himself being surrounded by nations in his own house. Roderich was determined to make himself a long-term tenant. Feliciano always popped in from nowhere. Kiku Honda sometimes dropped by to discuss a few things with Ludwig. Elizaveta was occasionally found hiding somewhere in the house with a suspicious camera in hand.

"And I thought I only had to put up with you!" Gilbert complained loudly to the country sitting across the dinning table from him.

Roderich shrugged in an aristocratic manner.

"Welcome to the real world, Mister," he said sagely, then turning his eyes toward the clock on the wall. "Germany hasn't got up from his bed yet? It's already ten past eight."

"And I thought you were the only one that always kept us waiting," Gilbert grumbled, apparently in the mood of sulking. "It must be because of you. You are contaminating my brother to make him forget the virtue of punctuality."

"An accusation like that is preposterous and irrational." Roderich sipped the red tea from his cup, which was almost cold, and frowned. "Although I wish I had such influence on our little brother."

"Not ours. _Mine_."

"If it pleases you, Mister," The Austrian was not looking for an argument before he enjoyed a decent breakfast. He set aside the cup and stood up from his chair.

"I'm going to his bedroom to have a look."

"Please," Gilbert laughed. "We wait for you almost every morning till half past eight. Did he ever go to your room and hurry you up? Patience and respect are honoured in this house."

Roderich managed to maintain a straight face. "Well, I need more time to get properly dressed, unlike someone-" He quickly changed the topic before provoking Gilbert into another verbal war. "I bet you two mugs of beer that I'm going to find Italy on your brother's bed. So far as I have gathered, it is the only reason for his uncharacteristic sleep in."

"You are out of your mind."

Roderich chuckled. "Why, I never grow tired of watching you get embarrassed. I'm sorry. I almost forgot you were as inexperienced as your better half. Branden didn't have enough time to teach you as much as he should, did he?"

"Just shut up and go get Germany!" Then the Prussian added thoughtfully, "And be sure to let him know that if I don't see his stupid face down here in sixty seconds I'm going to kick his sorry ass myself."

"Now we are talking about patience and respect in this house."

The Austrian laughed good-naturedly and walked up the stairs. A moment later Gilbert heard Ludwig yelling, "What the hell are you doing in my bed!" Followed by the ever-so-cheerful voice of Feliciano, "Good morning, Germany!"

And that was how an ordinary day started in the House of Germany.

-----------------

In the following year Gilbert spent most of time by himself. This was the way he used to be. Before he brought Ludwig to this world he had been alone, except for the brief marriage he had with Branden, in which he was on his own nonetheless. He enjoyed being alone, too. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

Ludwig busied himself with taking care of Feliciano. Sometimes Gilbert would watch him training the little Italian guy from a distance, and thought about the days when he trained his younger brother. He suddenly found himself being nostalgic, and he was reluctant to admit that he enjoyed and missed those days when he had Ludwig's company.

This was not fair. He thought. For making him get used to enjoying someone's company and then throwing him out in the cold again. To get distracted from self-pity, Gilbert entertained himself by nagging and bickering at Roderich, whom also seemed to enjoy such relationship in an awkward way.

"I sympathize you for having to experience the empty nest complex, Mister," said Roderich in his I-am-just-being-polite tone, "Don't deny. I have expertise in the field of psychology."

"You mean the same level of expertise you have in culinary arts?"

"At least Germany consults me from time to time. Does he ever go to you to talk about his worries?"

That was the soft spot he hit.

"He comes to me for more important things!" The Prussian protested, pretending not to care what his brother had consulted Roderich for. "I am his _big_ brother, not you. Never you."

Roderich shrugged. "From my observation he is afraid of being close to you, presumably because of the trauma you have inflicted on him during his childhood years. "

"Huh?" Gilbert stared at Roderich. His face went blank.

"I'm simply saying, you were being harsh on him when he was a child, and such behaviour created dissociation and as a result pushed him away from you. "

"All I did was for Germany's best interest, and I was determined not to spoil him so he would never grow up to be a _sissy_ like you!"

"Ahh. Did it ever occur to you that that name got old after the first two hundred years?"

"My point is you know nothing about raising up a country so stop telling me what should be done!"

"In fact I do," the Austrian said in a whisper, as if certain memories came back to him. "I had Holy Roman Empire."

They were both silent. Then Gilbert spoke up in a low voice.

"Can't stop thinking Germany as another Holy Roman Empire, can you? I'm sorry to disappoint you but he is not someone you can manipulate like you did to the child. You have lost your chance after you failed to prove yourself to be an adequate protector. "

"So I see. Still hate me for his dissolution?"

"Never forgive. Never forget."

Even someone like Roderich could be provoked and agitated. It only required one hit on the right spot.

"You can talk the talk, Prussia, and pretend not to be aware of the fact that Germany is waging another Great War, which may as well turn itself into a Thirty Years War or worse. Care to guess what would happen if he were to lose? What can you do then to save him from the downfall when you know it is inevitable? Let me tell you what you will do. You will sit back doing nothing but accepting the winners' proposition for whatever going to happen to him, because at the losing side of the war you are deprived of the right to refuse."

Gilbert spoke after a long pause, "That is never to happen. I am not you, Austria. I vowed to protect Germany till the very last of my breath. Until that time comes, I shall leave his fate to no one but God to decide."

------------------

Gilbert was up on the roof drinking beer, while Ludwig popped his head out of the window and asked, "Mind if I join you?"

"Only if you behave."

Ludwig snickered and disappeared from the window. Five minutes later he reappeared at his brother's side with a beer in his hand. There were giggles and laughter down in the house, but on the roof it was so quiet that one could even hear the soft sound as evening primroses bloomed.

"You found yourself a nice little place," Ludwig said casually. The moon shed her silver light on the roof, and the stars were blinking merrily.

"Can you hear the music of the spheres?" Gilbert asked out of the blue. Ludwig stared at him in confusion.

"Hmm, no? The only music I'm hearing is Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 played by Austria in the living room."

"You'll hear it, eventually." He patted his brother on the shoulder. "When you survive long enough to celebrate the five hundredth birthday, you'll hear it."

"I'll try my best to live to see that day," Ludwig laughed and gulped down the beer. "How old are you, by the way?"

"Seven hundred-ish? I lost count a long time ago." Gilbert took a drink of his beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "I used to be called Teuton before I took the name Prussia. Did I ever tell you that?"

"I think you mentioned it once but didn't elaborate. You got anything to confess?" He sniggered, flushing from the consumption of alcohol. He nudged the older one with his elbow. "Any unspeakable past?"

"Grab a history book and my past is there." The Prussian laughed and smacked his brother in the back of his head jokingly. "I'm not telling you something that everyone knows. This I want you to remember: I am unique."

"I'm thrilled to hear that!"

The sarcasm won him another smack on the head.

"No, listen. I am unique not because I am a country, but I can exist without being a country," Gilbert said. He looked exceptionally sober, in spite of the empty beer bottles lying around at his feet. "When I was called Teuton I was a knight without his land. I slept and fought with my fellow men. For almost a century I had not had a place to call home. If not for Holy Roman . . . well, that was another story and was irrelevant. I was not a country to start with, Bruder. My very existence emerged from believes. The knights gathered together and took the sacred oath before an altar, and this was how I was born to this world. I shall not be gone so long as people continue having faith and honouring me. I suppose that's why I'm still here," he was not looking at Ludwig, whom stopping drinking and started to feel a little anxious. "Haven't you figured it out since your boss decided to abolish my being? I am no longer a kingdom, not even a free state. Yet I'm still here, drinking beer with you."

"I can explain, Prussia. I'm sure it is just a temporary resolution. Boss said it was a precaution that would only occur during the wartime, so that his orders could be carried out more efficiently. Your status will be restored once the war is over. I promise!"

"I'm not accusing you, you little brat," he smiled and messed up Ludwig's hair. "I have lived long enough to understand a few things. Now tell me truthfully, have you felt stronger since then?"

"Y-Yes, but-"

"Then I am delighted." Gilbert reached for an unopened bottle of beer. He bit off the cap and clinked the bottle to Ludwig's.

"Long live Germany!" He laughed and drank.

"To the glory of Prussia," Ludwig toasted, eyes fixing on his brother.

"That, too," Gilbert nodded and took another swallow. Then he looked to the west, where the House of France used to stand there were only ruins and ashes left.

"Why another war, Bruder? You are supposed to be a peace lover, not a warmonger. Common belief says that was my role."

"Not another war. It is merely the continuation of the Great War. I have to take back what was stolen from me, including you."

Me and his pride. Gilbert thought bitterly. Although the Prussian was called "an army with a country," he used the military force discreetly. He would not wage a war unless it was absolutely necessary and was the only means left to solve the problem.

"Besides," Ludwig continued, "The reparations were too costly for my people to bear. Time to make the choice. I fight, or I die."

"That's why you burnt down the House of France and drove him out of his place?"

"He deserved it."

"Hm," Gilbert thought about it for a minute. "Agreed."

Ludwig gave him a shy smile. The blush on his face was barely recognizable in the darkness. He was not an excitable country, yet alcohol always managed to relieve him from his usual glumness.

"So... when are you going to include me in your military plan?" Gilbert asked.

"I don't intend to. You've had too much in the last twenty years. I want you to rest and rejuvenate. The boss has assured me that he is determined to leave you out of this. The war is soon to be over, anyway."

Gilbert laughed and elbowed his brother.

"He lied."

"No, he didn't. Look, I'm winning all the battles in the west. The war will be over by Christmas. America has been neutral since the beginning and the Soviet is not taking part in this war. We have nothing to be afraid of. There's no need for you to join the force."

"That's bogus," Gilbert snorted. "You don't expect to fight a war of such great scale without encountering the Soviet. Knowing him, I'd say he is looking for an excuse to enter the war. Either he attacks us or we attack first. When the time comes you will need me to go east to face him down."

"Frankly, this is one of the possibilities," Ludwig considered for a moment. "But I have a plan for that, too. After the English and the French submit to me I shall then turn to the east and defeat the Soviet. Speaking of which, I always want to kick his butt. Can't let you have all the fun." He winked at his brother briskly. Gilbert laughed and shook his head.

"You'll have to leave him to me. The Soviet... or Russia is not like any of the rivals you have met in the west. He is as cruel as a grizzly bear and as cunning as an old fox. You don't know him for seven hundred years. I do. I've known him since he was a child. I know how he fights. When he was a youth I taught him how to combat. A princess of mine even became one of the greatest rulers in the Russian history."

"Ugh! I hate when you say things like that," Ludwig murmured. "It makes me feel _extremely_ young. "

Gilbert chuckled. "Then how did you manage around Italy? He's almost the same as my age."

"No, God, no. He talks about pasta and that's it. He never mentions things of past. He always speaks without thinking twice, and the simplicity of his mind makes me wonder if he was born yesterday. How he manages to survive remains mystery to me."

"I didn't know you had so many complaints against that little guy. I thought you liked his company."

"I do like his company."

"I have to admit," Gilbert tried to study Ludwig's face, but darkness hindered his sights. "How you end up being with a country that is completely opposite to you in every aspect is beyond me."

The German smiled. "I enjoy being followed and listened. I like being in control. In my early years I had wished for a younger brother so I could order him around like you did. Then I got Italy. Not exactly what I had expected, but he would do."

"That was... not what I had in mind when I decided to have a younger brother. No, wait, it can't be my teaching. Only the manipulative Austria would have taught you such things. Did he plant those evil seeds in you? Did he? Damn! I knew it was him!"

Speaking of the devil, Roderich appeared by the window below the two.

"Gentlemen, I understand you are in the need of having a small drinking party, but some of us are trying to sleep!"

"Um, yes, sorry about the noise, Austria. I think we are done here." Ludwig apologized while Gilbert just snorted. Laying back on the roof, the Prussian watched his brother pick up the empty bottles. When the cleaning was finished the German approached him and waited.

"What? You want a goodnight kiss?" Gilbert scoffed. Before he said "How old are you, five?" Roderich's dissociation theory suddenly flashed back. He then rubbed his nose sheepishly and mumbled, "Well, today's your lucky day because I'm in the mood of giving one..."

But Ludwig did not look interested. His attention was on something else.

"I'm not sending you to the east," he said with determination. Gilbert stared at him blankly. Then he smiled, and spoke with a tone that was not meant to be defied.

"Yes. Yes, you are."


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

6.

This was not the first time Gilbert went to the Russian Plain with an army at his heel. He was there seven hundred years ago when he was a young knight who bore a black cross on his chest and fought in the name of God. He was a child then, ambitious and zealous, for he had been winning and never tasted the dreadfulness of loss.

By an iced lake he came across another child, whom also had an army, albeit smaller in size and ill equipped than his. The young Teuton stared down his opponent and spoke disdainfully.

"Reveal your name, pagan, before I have you and your pathetic army annihilated."

The other child regarded him. There was no fear in his violet eyes.

"The name is Rus," he answered in a voice that was smoother than silk. "Leave us, Teuton. Return to your own land and never come back. Or I shall make you."

Gilbert sneered, "With what?"

The child wearing a long scarf smiled innocently. "With him."

-------------

"Is this how you say 'Thank you,' you treacherous little scum?" Ivan laughed, his eyes blazing with anger and frustration. There was a deep cut by shrapnel just above his eyebrow. Half of his face was covered by his own blood. He came to save his sisters but almost got himself killed.

Already taking Natalia Alfroskaya and her Ukrainian sister as prisoners of war, Gilbert decided to advance on Moscow while he was having the upper hand.

And most importantly, before the deadly winter came to claim its prize.

Gilbert regarded his opponent, whom looked bigger and stranger than the last time he was seen on the battlefield of East Prussia. The blood on his face almost made his violet eyes look red.

"Who are you calling treacherous? You've got a plan to attack us, too! Does the name 'Thunderstorm' ring a bell to you?"

The expression on Ivan's face quickly changed as ferocity gave way to pity and sympathy.

"Someone never learns," he shook his head with regret. "When did I say I was referring to the stupid treaties I signed with Germany? You think about your hotheaded brother too much that you ignore more important things, things about you and me," he said calmly, a chilling smile on his lips. "Remember the words I said after the Battle of the Ice? Yes, I knew you would remember. You dared not forget it for once in the past seven centuries."

"What the..." Gilbert stopped abruptly. The smooth voice of a child echoed in the back of his mind like a long forgotten nightmare. The child was looking at him with his big violet eyes. There was a sweet yet dangerous smile on his chubby face.

"Come to my land again and I'll make you part of it," he said softly, stepping on Gilbert's left hand to stop him from picking up his sword. The young knight was too exhausted to do so anyway. He lied on his stomach on the lakeside, still coughing up the icy cold water from his lungs. His men were drowning and screaming for help. Their heavy armour was dragging them down to the bottom of the lake. Only a few who did not share the same fate as their brothers managed to reach the shore.

"I didn't hear your response, Teuton," Ivan trod harder. Gilbert was speechless, being stupefied by the devastating defeat. The pain on his left hand made him whimper before he bit his lip.

"You dirty pagan... you cheated! You lured us into the trap!" He shouted in despair. Ivan only laughed.

"And you took the bait--hook, line, and sinker," he said joyfully, gesturing his fellow men to pursue the survived invaders. It quickly turned into a one-sided slaughter as the demoralized knights were in no shape of defending themselves, let alone fighting back.

"For every wrong answer you give me, five of your men have to pay for the price." The child looked at him expectantly, "Oh, and you just used one."

Gilbert could taste blood in his mouth. Glaring at Ivan, he still found it hard to accept the fact that he was defeated by the inferior pagan. The moans of dying knights shattered his pride to the last pieces. Gritting his teeth, he slowly lowered his head to the ground.

"I... I shall leave this land..."

"And?"

"And... never set foot on its soil again."

Ivan nodded and frowned, as if he was not satisfied.

"I was hoping you would refuse," he said in a sing-song voice. "So I could conquer you and make you a member of my family. I don't see other children here except my sisters. They say it's too cold to play in my house. I want to go to some warmer place. Say, Teuton, is your place warm?"

-------------

"For seven hundred years you have kept your promise," said Ivan. "Germany has changed you. It is his fault you betrayed me and ravaged my land. But I, too, have to punish you for you are making me hurt. I don't like being hurt, Prussia."

Gilbert could hear the battle cry from his troops. Tanks were rolling, bullets shooting, shrapnels exploding, and wounded soldiers from both sides were crying in agony. He could smell the burning flesh of human beings. This was going to be the most gruesome battle he had ever fought in his life.

"Stop whining about the past when you are living for the moment! All I care is victory for Germany!" With that he charged into Ivan, only to see he was smiling. There was certain familiarity in that smile that made Gilbert alert.

"Just as I supposed," Ivan folded his arms in defiance. "Then I shall defeat you with him."

_"With him," said the child softly._

Gilbert halted in time to see the gigantic guardian arise behind Ivan's back. The temperature suddenly dropped to fifty degrees below zero. The chilling wind howled the white curse of freezing death.

The Winter had arrived.

The motors of tanks stopped working. The frozen caterpillar track stopped rolling. Bullets could no longer be shot and soldiers could feel their fingers no more. The Prussian gritted his teeth in frustration, and then yelled, "Fall back!" He remembered the boss said no retreat under any condition, yet he could not watch his men dying unnecessarily.

-------------

The boss was not pleased to see Gilbert back in Berlin. To say the least, he was furious.

By the time Ludwig found his brother it was already late evening. He had to bypass a barricade consist of empty beer bottles to approach a very sulking Gilbert.

"Hey, Bruder, how are you doing?" He touched the older one's forearm, a deep concern in his voice.

"You mean after three hours non-stop bashing and ranting courtesy of your boss? I'm doing quite well. Thanks for asking."

Ludwig noticed the sourness in Gilbert's tone. He sighed.

"You shouldn't have come back. The priority now is to neutralize the Soviet before he moves west. What makes you afraid of him, anyway? You defeated him before, many times!"

"Not on his land and not at this time of year. It is goddamn _winter_ in Russia, for heaven's sake!"

"There, calm down," Ludwig tried to soothe his brother by hugging him and patting his back. It never occurred to him that Gilbert was this _small_ until he held him in his arms. Somehow he thought the Prussian was bigger, taller, and much stronger. Then he felt Gilbert's body tense as if he was refusing to be cuddled. Eventually he gave in to his brother and relaxed a little.

"I'm not feeling good about this war on the Soviet," said Gilbert in a worried voice while he was leaning against his brother's shoulder. "Don't get me wrong. I believe his defeat is crucial to our ultimate victory. It's just that... the timing is wrong. To make the situation worse, our army is not properly prepared for the winter there. How am I supposed to win when the nature is against us? I think..." he hesitated, but still decided to speak his mind. "I think the boss made a bad move."

"On the contrary, I think you should have more faith in him," Ludwig argued. "The boss does not make mistakes. He has been leading me to victories and glories. You have to look into yourself to find what the problem is. _You _have to fight harder and stop running away from the battlefield."

Gilbert tensed again. He shunt his brother aside and sat straight.

"I did _not_ run away!" He blushed from indignity, "It was a tactical retreat before my men were frozen to death!" The crimson eyes grew cold as he regarded his brother. "Is this what you came back from Africa for? To accuse and blame me without reasoning just like your boss did?"

Ludwig was losing his patience. The distrust of his brother against the boss unnerved him. He could bear with stupidity and most of weaknesses thanks to Feliciano, but disloyalty was obviously not one of them, especially when it came from the other half of him.

"I came back," he growled, clenching his brother by his shoulder with such strength that it made the Prussian hurt, "because I was deeply ashamed when I heard you become a coward and a deserter. How would other countries see us when they heard the news? Either the fearsome Prussia has lost his balls or the boss starts to make mistakes? Neither one is acceptable! Such dissidence should have never occurred. You taught me how to be a soldier, Prussia. You taught me loyalty and obedience. Now be the nation you once were and fight as you are ordered. Don't let me down and don't let the boss down, again."

Gilbert was dumbstruck. He stared at his younger brother in disbelief. Since when did Ludwig turn _against_ him? Since when did he become such a zealot, refusing to understand and show empathy? The new boss had shaped his brother into someone he could no longer relate to. It felt like... betrayal.

"No... no, Bruder, listen to me..."

"No, you listen to_ me_." Gilbert was shoved against the nearest wall. Ludwig clutched his collar, pressing him into the wall with his fists. The blue eyes glared into the crimson ones. "I _am_ Germany, your sole Master. You vowed to stand by me and never disobey my orders. Now you do as I say. Prussia, I'm ordering you to return to the east front and destroy the Soviet with all your might. You are going to fight the war on your life and should never, ever, show any cowardice again. Or I'll..." he suddenly paused, looking confused and uncertain, as if the old Ludwig switched back. "I mean, well, no, I don't mean... I was just trying to say..."

"Or what? Say it, _Master_," Gilbert scoffed. Even the sarcasm could not hide the weariness in his voice. He wished it were a bad dream. Only in nightmares would his beloved brother refuse to believe in him and make threats _to him_.

"What would await me if I were to fail you, _Master_?" Gilbert asked again. He glared at his brother till the other one averted his eyes. Ludwig fidgeted, feeling uneasy and self-loathing. He let go of Gilbert and backed off.

"Fine," he grunted, completely ignoring the question. "If you don't feel like going back to face the Soviet, I shall go myself. You are transferred to North Africa to take my position there."

Gilbert stared at him in silence. He did not come back to their home to see this. Not this quarrelling or hurting each other. Perhaps Ludwig was right; he should not have come back at all.

"Forget it," he sighed wearily. "You potato head know nothing about the east. I'm going back tomorrow morning." He stretched up, touching a few places where Ludwig had inflicted pain on, and winced. He ignored them and started waggling to his room.

"But..."

"End of discussion. I have heard too much from you this evening." At the door Gilbert turned to glance at his brother, "I hope you are satisfied."

"I'm glad you do realize the importance of..." Ludwig trailed off, thinking maybe it would be better to say something else. "Although it doesn't make much sense, I'm still pleased to see you well."

The Prussian smiled curtly. "No, you are not," he shook his head before closing the door. "Not tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

7.

"I am surprised," Ivan said in theatrical exaggeration, "to see you back again. Tell me, my dear Prussia, am I so attractive or do you simply have a death wish? Or maybe both?" He laughed and put more pressure on his right knee. Gilbert could hear the ice layer beneath his back cracking a warning sound. He desperately tried to hold off Ivan with his arms, but another push from his stronger opponent made him flinch in pain.

_There goes another rib. _He thought bitterly. The encounter between him and the Russian turned into a melee combat -- like the ones they used to have in previous wars. Human soldiers fought with modern firearms, but the countries preferred an archaic touch: They wrestled. Gilbert fought as fiercely as he could, but the significant difference between their strengths gave him a hard time to hold on. One punch from Ivan made him stagger and fall on his back, followed by Ivan's knee almost squashing his chest.

Ivan looked much better than the last time. The wound above his eyebrow was almost invisible. There were fresh cuts on his face, new wounds on his body, yet none of them was fatal enough to weaken him.

"Prussia, Prussia," he said his name in the same way a mother would sing a lullaby to her baby. "You are so achingly weak that I'm not even enjoying this fight. What happened to you? Ah, let me guess. Your brother has stolen too much power from you, no? I almost forgot you are deprived of your title. What should I call you from now on, 'an insignificant fraction of Germany?'"

Gilbert bit his lower lip, trying to block Ivan's words from entering his mind. The broken ribs made his every move like torture, and Ivan was making it even less bearable. He pulled all his strengths to push his opponent aside, only to fail again. He could see the General Winter obliterating his troops. Suddenly it all became so familiar, like deja vu.

"Why, Prussia, say something, let me hear your cry and beg me for mercy, which I'm not going to give, by the way."

Gilbert struggled again, and this time Ivan lifted his knee. The unbearable pressure was gone for a moment, but before Gilbert could move Ivan's foot stomped on him. Hard.

The heavy strike squeezed all the air out of his chest. He opened his mouth in agonizing pain. The ice underneath his back finally cracked into pieces. The next thing he knew he was inundated by the cold water in the frozen river, and soon it was pouring into his lungs. In a heart beat he thought he heard a ghastly shadow whispering the word "Death" into his ear, and saw the ghosts from the past being dragged down to the bottom of the lake, where his knights died and decayed.

Then someone pulled him out of the water.

"Aw, that was cold," Ivan complained, flinging his water-soaked right arm while Gilbert was choking and coughing, struggling to breathe. He curled up into a ball, shivering uncontrollably. Ivan kicked him with the tip of his boot.

"How do you like it, Prussia?"

Gilbert mumbled some words. It was the first time he spoke in this fight. His voice was so faint that Ivan had to lean closer to catch.

"Say again?"

And that was when the Prussian lashed out. The sharp rock he grabbed when he was drowning in the river hit Ivan by his temple. Ivan stumbled and Gilbert hit him again, and again. The rock in his hand soon was soaked with warm blood, dripping down from his fingers. He struck several times more before he could catch his breath, and Ivan fell. Gilbert jumped on his opponent to hold him down. The fractured ribs inside his chest hurt like hell, and he was determined to make Ivan hurt even more.

But the Russian just laughed. Blood was all over his smashed face. He spat out a broken tooth with some blood, and laughed again.

"Oh my, you made me dizzy," he said. "Is that all?"

"Not until I finish you off!" Gilbert snarled and punched his face. But his fist was caught in the middle, and all of a sudden he was flying backward into a snow drift. Ivan stood up, wiping the blood from his lips, and clicked his tongue.

"My turn," he said.

-----------------

Gilbert shuddered. His breath became short and quick. Frost started to form on his eyelashes and heat kept flowing out of his body. His military uniform was completely wet and frozen. His lips turned white.

"It is just inconvenient," Ivan said after pulling Gilbert out of the river and throwing him on the snowy ground for the umpteenth time. "That a country cannot either be drown or frozen to death. But it makes the torturing process more fun."

The Prussian said nothing. His mind was as numb as his body. He could feel nothing except pain, which was sharp as always, like a razor slowly cutting him open.

"Can you hear it?" Ivan paused to listen, not caring if Gilbert was answering back. He looked at the cloudy sky and beamed, "Airborne attack on East Prussia! Oh, they are dropping bombs on your cities. Such a beautiful piece of symphony, with your people screaming and crying in despair. Pity, you can't even defend them."

Ivan threw his arms wide open as if he was standing in the centre of stage with the spotlight on. He half closed his eyes, apparently indulging the moment. "And the cities are burning in flames. Soon there will be nothing left but ruins and ashes. And there is the city where your kings were crowned, the city of Koenigsberg... no, not there, no." He yelped and opened his eyes abruptly, just in time to catch his feeble opponent struggling to stand up. A kick on his abdomen sent Gilbert rolling on the ground. Ivan stepped on his right shoulder.

"It is your fault that your cities are destroyed. _Your fault_," Ivan cried. The half-dried blood on his face made him look more horrible than ever. "They were part of my history, too, but you let them fall. Are you happy now, for ruining my life? The royal family I loved was murdered before my eyes. I was forced to choose side, to kill my own people and become the red terror everyone else in this continent despites, all because of you and your little scheme! Look at me! _Look at me! _I'm such a _monster_."

The last word was spoken in a whisper, and was gone with the wind like a snowflake. Gilbert was not listening. All he could hear was the helpless cries from his people. He heard mothers wailing for their murdered babies, orphans weeping for their lost parents, countrymen shrieking as they were run over by tanks, and the collapsing sound of burning churches and palaces. He was cold from within.

Ivan recovered his composure and smiled.

"The harm is done," he said, picking up a rifle from a dead soldier lying nearby. "So why don't we destroy everything and start anew?" He took aim at Gilbert, finger on the trigger. "Beg me for forgiveness before I shoot."

The Prussian's voice was shaking from freezing cold.

"I d-did what I sh-should do to save Germany f-from you. I regret nothing."

Ivan went silent. Then he simply nodded.

"Yes. Yes, of course. You did it for Germany. You would do everything for Germany. How could I forget?" He unloaded and lowered the rifle, his finger moving away from the trigger. "It just occurred to me I have siblings, too. I'd be happy to take revenge for my sisters. I'm sure you can understand." The metal gunstock was placed above Gilbert's right ankle. Then Ivan titled his head to explain himself patiently while stepping on Gilbert's right shin to stop him from struggling. "You see, the thing I don't like about guns is that they are indirect. You open fire from a distance and your enemy dies. No fun. I like hammers better. With a hammer you can actually _feel _how someone's head is squashed into a pile of smashed bones and flesh. But sometimes, a gun can do a hammer's job just as well, if you know how to use it properly."

He smiled, and thumped down the rifle with all his force. Bones were crushed into pieces and Gilbert yelped in excruciating pain. He couldn't stop screaming and cursed Ivan with every choice word that came to his fuzzy mind.

"I have _two_ sisters," Ivan said.

He lifted the blood stained rifle casually and pounded it down on the other ankle without mercy. Gilbert screamed till no more sound could come out of his mouth. He was breathing heavily. Most of his nails were either split or completely gone when he scratched the icy land in pain. He looked a mess with his blood spilling everywhere, but it was not enough for the Russian, not yet.

He threw the rifle away and knelt down beside the exhausted Prussian. He patted his face to make Gilbert look at him.

"Now, do you feel sorry and regret what you have done to me?" He asked softly, but only got a spit of blood in return. Ivan shook his head, looking awfully sad.

"Your ruthlessness breaks my heart, Prussia."

Gilbert curved his lips with a fading smirk. "As if you have one."

Ivan watched him solemnly. He nodded in agreement. "Precisely. I do not have a heart, so why not give me yours?"

"What?" Gilbert was dumbfounded. "No... no! You are crazy! Stop it! Stop!" His eyes widened with fear as he watched Ivan taking off the bayonet from the rifle. The Russian was whistling, looking pleased with himself as he sliced the Prussian blue uniform open with the pointy blade. The iron cross hanging from Gilbert's neck caught his eye. Ivan frowned.

"Disgusting," he spat, cutting off the very symbol of highest honour and throwing it into the river as if it was a piece of garbage. He then touched the upper left part of the other's chest, feeling the warmth and strong beats beneath his palm.

"Still resisting," Ivan said while Gilbert was trying to crawl away from him. "What's the point when you know I am unstoppable?" Ivan used his knee to pin the Prussian on the ground, unintentionally pressing on where the ribs were broken. The pain made Gilbert shake vigorously. He gripped the blade of the bayonet with his bare hands, blood streaming down from his wrists.

"No... no, please," he finally begged in despair. "Please don't."

Ivan paused for a second before he continued. "If you lay still, it won't hurt," he smiled, "that much."

The Prussian cursed him and swore a much worse vengeance once he got out of this. Soon his threats turned into screams as the soft skin and flesh were peeled open. Blood was pumping out of his body with each breath. Then the screams went silent as he watched Ivan holding the still beating heart in his hand. He could not do anything but watch through his own blood, and the world turned red.

"Like I guessed," said Ivan, poking the heart with curiosity. "It is Koenigsberg you have kept as your heart, not Berlin. Oh well, Berlin does not interest me anyway. Your brother can keep it as long as he wishes. I don't care." He tucked the heart into his pocket, and looked at the nation lying helplessly in a pool of blood, battered and broken. He leaned over and whispered into Gilbert's ear.

"It should have never come down to this. You see, Prussia, I always want you to be a part of me. If only at that time you could accept the marriage I proposed, there would be no Germany nor Soviet, just you and me. Can you see it's all your fault now? Make a wrong decision and there's no turning back." He stood straight, giggling hysterically. His violet eyes looked void, "No turning back, Prussia, that's why you'd better die."

Those words were lost in the wind as Gilbert saw his world turning dark. He heard Ivan said something but failed to catch its meaning. It seemed everything was deserting him, fleeing away from him as fast as possible, including the pain. His eyelashes fluttered, and then he could hear or feel nothing more. Before his world turned completely dark something flashed back in his mind.

_"Watch me, Prussia," the fair child was running around excitedly like a puppy trying to catch its tail. His big blue eyes were shining with glee and hope of the future. "Look, look, I'm a big boy now, and I have a pony!"_


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

8.

In the darkness Gilbert felt someone touching his lips and feeding him water. He opened his eyes only to see grey shadows from the past, and then fell unconscious again. His mind drifted through the vast space of darkness, seeing people as well as countries that had used to be part of his life. Among those he saw the one who he had not seen for a very long time; who was left in the back of his mind, buried in a remote place, and never meant to be reminded again.

Yet there he was. Branden.

Gilbert saw the other country stride toward him. He looked exactly the same as the day he came to claim their marriage. Standing before the Prussian, Branden took off his hat, a black tricorne with a red rosette attached to the front, looking vaguely familiar.

"It's been a long time," he said evenly. It was hard to tell his emotions in his voice. "I have since missed you."

Gilbert did not know what to say. He stared at the other in silence.

"Another Thirty Years War has just come to an end," Branden continued on, despite the lack of response from the Prussian. "A heartbreaking outcome resembles that of the first one. Our empire has lost once again, along with our ideals and privilege. It seems God decide against taking pity on we Germans. Or is it us who are prone to make mistakes? We have fought under the name of religion and race for both wars. How many more times do we have to repeat our mistakes before we successfully eliminate our nation from the surface of this land?"

"It's... it's more complicated than that," Gilbert argued without much confidence in his tone.

Branden looked at him calmly. His eyes were unreadable.

"Germany is going to share the same fate as the Holy Roman Empire, to be weakened at best or dissolved at worst. You were not part of the first war, Prussia, yet you saw what had happened to the boy and Austria."

"Stop comparing me to Austria. Unlike him, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save my brother." Gilbert tried to sound more promised, but courage and confidence were dissipating as he spoke. Branden smiled at him knowingly.

"You have done enough for him. It is time to think for yourself," he said. "How are you going to survive this time? Who is going to save you when I am no longer there? The kings were my last gift for you, to guide you and protect you when your very existence is at stake. They were the essence of me. Where are they now?"

"The kings are gone."

"So the King's Mountain is once again without a king."

That name would have made his heartache, had he had one.

"Koenigsberg is gone, too," said Gilbert, feeling a hot sting behind his eyes. He looked down, pretending to study his boots. Then he saw Branden's feet moved two steps closer.

"I'm afraid you are on you own now," he said softly, patting Gilbert's shoulder, and gave him a warm squeeze. "There is an end that awaits each one of us. Brace yourself when the time comes."

"But I can't die! It's not my turn... it's too early! Germany needs me. I'm important to him! How can he go on without me? Dissolution is not an option. No, I refuse to die!" He ranted nervously, "I-I'll survive like I did so many times before. Germany and I... we'll both survive and move on. You wait and see, Brandenburg. _We'll move on!_"

The other country just watched him with sympathy. He silently put the tricorne on Gilbert's head, adjusting the hat for him like he had done in his last minute before the Prussian buried a sword in his chest. Gilbert closed his eyes briefly. When he spoke again after a long pause the frenzy was already gone.

"I don't want to die," he said in a small voice, feeling ashamed of himself for having to admit his deepest fear.

"No one does," said Branden. "But remember your oath."

"Yes," he sighed. After another pause he asked, "How did it feel to dissolve?"

"Painful," his once spouse answered. "But the pain alone is not the worst part."

"The worst part?"

"To be forgotten by your beloved ones, to find your existence is faded in people's memory, and to realize you are no longer wanted as they try not to mention your name in their conversation. But the most unbearable part of being dissolved is when you have to give up your last hope, the one and only hope that you have been clinging to since the day you were born, and exit the stage into the unbounded darkness, knowing you will never return."

-----------------

Gilbert moaned and opened his eyes. All he could see was still darkness, yet he was not drifting. He never knew his body could be this heavy. Every inch of it was aching and screaming in agony. He felt as though he got run over by a tank.

He groaned, lifting his right hand to touch his chest. He could trace the ugly huge scar covered by his clothes, with nothing beating underneath. His breath became heavy, his eyes hot.

"Prussia?" A voice from above startled him. "Are you awake?"

It was his brother. Gilbert nodded, and then realized Ludwig was probably not able to see him in the darkness, so he spoke, "Yes." His voice was so coarse and faint that he almost couldn't hear it himself. He managed to put in more force to make it louder and said again, "Yes. Where are you, Bruder?"

"Here, right beside you," Gilbert felt a hand touching his shoulder. He caught his brother's hand, their fingers intertwined. "I'm right here," Ludwig repeated. The desperate tone in his voice alerted the Prussian.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" Gilbert asked anxiously. He tried to sit up but fell on his back the next second. He groaned and coughed, tasting something eerily sweet in the back of his mouth. The broken ribs must have damaged some of his internal organs.

"Lay still," Ludwig gently pressed on his shoulder. "You are hurting yourself." His voice was a little shaky as he spoke. Gilbert felt him shivering. He squeezed his brother's hand to comfort him, leaving his unanswered questions dangling in the air. Silence fell upon the brothers like a thick blanket, and then Gilbert heard a sniffle, followed by a couple drops of warm water falling on his brow, burning through his soul.

"It's over," the young empire whimpered. "I have ruined everything. The people are ashamed of me. They hate me and curse me for having dragged them into the war. It's my entire fault that my people are going to live with guilt for the rest of their lives. Their children and the children of children will be condemned for the crimes that they are never part of. How can they love me again? How can they ever forgive me? I can't even forgive myself."

"I forgive you," Gilbert said. Ludwig paused, and then laughed bitterly.

"It still sounds good even though you know it's not true."

"I forgive you," Gilbert repeated firmly.

"Of all the people you have every reason to loathe me. Look what I have done to you," his voice was raising, his tone more frantic. "You are no longer a country because I wanted more power. Your land is annexed because I lost the war. Koenigsberg is gone because I sent you to the eastern front in a wrong time. Even your most beloved king is dishonoured because my ex-boss adored him. Say it. Say you hate me. I know you do!"

"I forgive you," Gilbert said softly.

Ludwig went silent. Suddenly he broke into laughter that sounded more like cry. It echoed in the room and eventually died out. He then leaned over and kissed his brother on his forehead and eyelids.

"I'm sorry. I really am," he sounded like a lost child. The war destroyed everything he once possessed, including his pride, his honour, his courage and confidence, all gone along with the elegant cultural monuments in his cities. Nothing was left for him to cling to but his brother. Somehow he was assured that the Prussian would always be there, despite how many wars he had lost; he would always be there to encourage him, boost his battered spirit, give a pat on his back and tell him it's going to be alright. After all, he was the powerful nation that brought him to this world. He would know what to do.

"'Tis all good," Gilbert smiled in the dark. "Although I have to admit, your stubbornness and self-absorbed attitude make me want to kick your fat ass at times. Upset, yes; hate, no. I don't hate you, Bruder. Never do. Never will."

He heard Ludwig crack a laugh. Gilbert squeezed his brother's hand, feeling exhausted.

"It's going to be alright," he said, before his mind was lost in the darkness again.

----------------------

_He saw his king lying in the huge bed, almost buried under the fluffy sheets. His breath was quick and shallow. Gilbert stared at the great king, wondering since when did he become so tiny and fragile. The old man opened his eyes and smiled._

_"I dreamt of the first day we met, on my eighteenth birthday," the king said. "I didn't know I loved you then. When I was a carefree youth I tried to run away from you, from my burden as the heir of the kingdom. I didn't understand you, nor did I want to."_

_"It was not very late that you discovered the inner beauty of me. In fact, I'd say it is obvious since I am such an attractive country," Gilbert boasted, giving his old friend a lopsided grin. He took off his tricorne, fingering the rosette on the hat casually. "I'm open to compliments today. Come, Ol' Fritz, make me happy."_

_The king smiled at him indulgently._

_"I am fascinated," he said. "Whenever I see you, you look exactly the same as you were yesterday, as last month, as last year, as the first time I met you when I was eighteen. It seems time has spared you."_

_"I'm a country. I'm immortal," Gilbert beamed._

_The king regarded him as if an interesting thought just came across his mind._

_"Have you heard the music of spheres, the melody of eternity?"_

_"What's that?"_

_"Look at those stars above us, Prussia. They are there centuries after centuries, forever shining. Men dream of immortality for they have so many tasks to accomplish yet so little time. We are born on Monday and die on Sunday, when our dreams wither into dust. We are born of things that die, men and countries alike."_


	9. Chapter 9

_Usually I only upload the revised version at ff; this time, however, since it took me so long to come up with chapter 9, I decide to post the draft instead. It will be updated to the final version once I receive it from my BETA reader._

_Sorry for the delay. Please enjoy. :)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

9.

Every time when Gilbert came to it was always dark, making it impossible to tell whether it was day or night. His brother was by his side, holding his hand as if he never changed position. He was waiting, or guarding, or maybe also sleeping, but whenever Gilbert was awake he would hear Ludwig ask how he felt.

He felt terrible. He thought he was more weakened each time when he opened his eyes. His self-healing ability was reduced to none as his land was ravaged and his people expelled, leaving him no strength to recover. Yet he lied whenever Ludwig asked, telling him he was getting better.

During the brief periods when his mind escaped from the darkness, Gilbert would ask Ludwig to recap him what had happened since he left for the eastern front. Upon hearing Feliciano's betrayal, again, Gilbert couldn't help but grinned.

"That's typical of him. I bet you had prepared for it."

"I did expect it to happen. In fact, I also expected Austria to follow suit just to save himself. He stayed by my side till the end, though."

"Austria is a fool."

"So are we. I miss him."

Gilbert grumbled something that was certainly not complimentary. The never ending grudge between the two countries both amused and troubled Ludwig. He caressed his brother and changed the subject. Talking about the past somehow served him as solace of heart like making confession. He was again composed and self-possessed, except still worried about Gilbert's condition. He had decided that fetching a medic for his brother would be the first priority once they got out of here.

After the victors came back from Potsdam to condemn them for whatever crimes they saw fit, of course. He thought it would be just like another Treaties of Versailles. Nothing was changed after what he had gone through.

He had no idea what was bound to come.

Gilbert was woken up as Ludwig nudged him, saying someone was approaching. He blinked, and for the first time in God-knows-how-long he saw the light. The room was illuminated by a small yellow bulb on the ceiling. Not very bright, but was enough for the brothers to see each other. Gilbert was relieved to see there were only a couple bruises on his brother's face. His smile turned sour as he tried to sit up.

"Don't," Ludwig stopped him. After he was able to see Gilbert, he did not bother to ask how he was. His brother was in a very bad shape, even worse than the time he was carried in by two Soviet soldiers and unceremoniously dumped on the floor like a sack of potatoes. The bleeding wound on his chest had given Ludwig the worst panic attack in his life.

"Just...help me get up," Gilbert insisted. "They are not going to see me lying like a hapless dog to be kicked around."

Ludwig argued no more. He held him up under the other's arms, trying carefully not to touch the injuries. Gilbert flinched but didn't make a sound. He was more concerned with his feet since he couldn't feel anything below his broken ankles. He wouldn't stay crippled as Ivan intentionally made him into if he could help. Before Gilbert could ask his brother to take a look at his ankles, the sound of foot steps stopped at the other side of the door. The brothers tensed, bracing themselves for whoever going to come inside.

The door opened but only Ivan walked in, with two Soviet soldiers behind him. Ludwig was confused as he had sensed all of the victors, except the Chinese, had come along. He wondered where the rest went. Upon seeing the huddled brothers, Ivan grimaced.

"Gah! The bond between you two disgusts me to no end." He pointed Ludwig to his soldiers, "Take this one to the other room."

"No, leave us be." The German refused while being tugged by the Red Army soldiers. Gilbert didn't say much as he clenched his brother's hand. Shaking his head in disappointment, Ivan casually took a rifle from one of his soldiers and shot the Prussian at his shoulder, who yelped but immediately silenced himself. Ludwig stared at his brother in shock, the disbelief in his eyes quickly turning into infuriation as he saw the blue uniform being stained into dark purple.

"You monster!" He shouted at the Russian. "We have capitulated. Do you realize what you just did is a vicious violation of the Geneva Convention?"

"Which I did not sign," Ivan pointed out rather kindly. He lowered the rifle to aim at Gilbert's left leg. "One more word, Germany, and I promise you'll see another pretty little hole on your dearest brother."

No one spoke anymore. Only heavy breaths were heard in the small room. Ivan nodded in satisfaction, and motioned his soldiers to proceed. Gilbert half sat on the floor, with only one arm to support himself. His eyes followed Ludwig as the latter was dragged away, who kept looking back at him till the door slammed shut before his face, leaving the two countries alone in the room.

"So much hatred in your eyes," Ivan smiled. He stared down at the Prussian, who would slaughter him in the most brutal way if look could kill.

"Does it still hurt?" He kicked the other's shin with the tip of his boot, sounding almost concerned. "I hope it does. You see, I've been releasing more than enough mayhem on your land so as to weaken you. I've done a really good job, methinks." He giggled and leaned over. A strong smell of alcohol made Gilbert frown, but then he caught a glimpse of something glimmering under Ivan's scarf, radiating a sense of familiarity.

"Uh, sharp eyes," noticing the look on Gilbert's face, Ivan said with drunken glee. He unbuttoned his coat, grabbed a necklace from under the shirt, and showed it to the Prussian, pinching the pendant with two fingers. It was an crudely polished oval-shaped amber, reflecting soft yellow gleam under the ceiling light.

Gilbert suddenly felt the scar on his chest started tearing him apart as if he was reliving the very moment of excruciation. With a snarl he leapt and threw himself at Ivan, his hands snatched at Ivan's, attempting to wrest the amber from the Russian with his nearly nonexistent strength.

"Give it back, you dirty pig!" He cursed as he tried in vain. Ivan just laughed as if he was amused, holding the pendant higher and repressed Gilbert's struggle with little effort.

"Not going to happen," he said with a smile, while pressing Gilbert's face on the ground with his spare hand. "Isn't your heart beautiful?" He laughed again and kissed the amber, then tucking it back under his shirt, close to his chest where his heart supposed to be.

Ignoring the death glare from the Prussian, Ivan helped himself to a chair, with the riffle still in hand. "Before we get down to business, Prussia, I'd like to know where you hide the Amber Room."

"What?"

"The Amber Room," Ivan repeated patiently. "The token of our great love that you gave to me two hundred years ago, with a promise of an everlasting _friendship_. It was built with the finest amber from Koenigsberg. Your men stole the masterpiece from my palace when the war began. Now I want it back."

"I had it destroyed," Gilbert smirked, although in fact he never had a clue where such thing would be. It simply made him feel good to irritate his adversary.

"Liar." The buttstock thumped on the floor just two inches away from his face.

"I'm asking, nicely, where you hide the Amber Room. My patience is wearing thin," Ivan said. The false merriness was gone from his face. The violet eyes looked colder than the never-melting ice in Siberia.

It was too ironic for Gilbert to keep a straight face. He laughed dryly in spite of the obvious threat from Ivan. "What are you expecting?" He sneered, "How can the token still be intact when what it represents has already become meaningless? I would have broken it with my own hands had I seen it."

Ivan gazed at him in silence. Then he spoke with a voice that was strangely melancholy.

"You shouldn't have said that, Prussia. You have no idea how precious it was to me," Ivan sighed as he loaded the rifle. "I hope you won't disappoint me again on the next question: How long can you last before you die?"

The Red Army soldiers opened the door to the next room, pushed the German in, and locked it from outside. Ludwig turned around immediately, pounding and trying to open the door in vain.

Someone cleared his throat, and another said, "I wouldn't do it if I were you."

Ludwig stiffened, turning to see the person who spoke. In the back of the room sat three familiar figures. One blonde was eating a hot dog while waving his spare hand as if to say hi. Another blonde sat beside him, looking deadly serious. The third one sat all by himself, glancing at the other two with disdain.

Now he knew where the rest of the winning party went.

"What's the meaning of this?" He asked angrily. "Why did you allow the Soviet to go in there alone? Do you know what he just did to my brother?"

Alfred swallowed the last chunk of food and shrugged. "He's doing his share." Arthur nodded in agreement while Francis just snorted in displeasure.

"What share?"

The question was left unanswered. After wiping his fingers with Arthur's handkerchief, Alfred motioned Ludwig, "Come, sit with me."

"I demand explanation," the German said, still standing in the center of the room. The English speaking countries exchanged a glance before Arthur turned to Ludwig and said, "How do you think of Prussia?"

The question caught Ludwig off guard. He was a little confused, suspecting Arthur was simply avoiding the question by changing the subject. "I believe my opinion on my brother is irrelevant to the problem. Give me a feasible reason for separating the two of us, or send me back to my brother. Please."

"Ah, just answer our question first, Germany," Alfred said casually. A donut appeared in his hand out of nowhere. "I can give you cookies if you answer it truthfully."

"Are you making it a joke? I'm sorry but I am not amused."

"Just answer it," Francis interrupted, still sulking for some reason Ludwig couldn't put his finger on. "You are wasting time, time that your brother may not have."

Ludwig was alarmed. He looked at each of the three countries with suspicion but chose to obey, albeit reluctantly.

"My brother is the reason I exist,"he started, "I wouldn't be here if not for him."

_"You brought me to this world and crowned me, Prussia. For this I shall be for ever in your debt."_

_"You do not owe me any debt, my Prince. You are here because it was your wish to come to exist. You are Germany, the greatest empire on this continent. Nations bow to you. You bow to no one. "_

"When I was small and weak he let me immerse in his resources and power. He taught me everything needed to know to live and prosper."

_"Will you show me, then, how to become as strong and powerful as you are? Maybe I do not need to bow to anyone, yet I'm still a child who has to look up to everyone else. I'm eager to grow up."_

_"And grow up you will. Practice with me. Fight alongside my army. I shall teach you everything you need to know. "_

"By everything, did you mean Prussia taught you how to fight, specifically?" Arthur asked.

"Combating was part of the curriculum. One cannot survive without knowing the means to defend himself." Ludwig thought of the "pain-inducing" lessons he had had with Gilbert, and couldn't help but smiled a little. The memory seemed a thousand years old, yet when he recalled it was as vivid as from yesterday. He closed his eyes briefly, shifting his attention back to the reality. "It is of necessity that I learn such skills. My neighbours are not the friendly type, if you happen to notice."

"You said you were young," Arthur went on, "So when you were not capable of making your own judgement, did Prussia use his influence to trick you into believing that only iron and blood are the solution to all the problems and the righteous way of living?"

"Iron and blood? Yes, he said they were of importance, that war was a continuation of policies, but not the only -"

"Did he also teach you the best defence is offence?"

"Yes. If you look into our history and geography-"

"Did he also said at least in one occasion that 'We Germans fear God and nothing else in the world?' "

"Yes, but-"

"That's all I want to know. Thank you." The English said, and then turned to face the French. "You have heard the proof you asked for, word by word with your own ears."

Francis smiled sweetly, "Bravo! You'd put the interrogators of Bastille in shame."

Ludwig stared at them. His confusion and fear deepened.

"What are you planning to do to us?" He asked desperately. What, asking a few prejudiced questions and they thought they knew every aspect of his brother now? How ridiculous!

"It's not planning," said Alfred after he managed to stop the English and French from escalating their usual bickering into something more disastrous. He approached Ludwig, his hand on the other's shoulder. "It's already been carried out."

"You are not-"

_Bang._

The sudden gunshot quieted the room. Ludwig paled. He bolted to get the door but was caught by Alfred, who tugged his arm with overpowering strength.

"_Let go!_"

"Fret not, Germany. We're doing you a huge favor by helping you get rid of your autocratic brother. You'll thank us later."

"_What the fuck do you know about my brother? About us?_"He cried in pain. He could feel blood pumping through his head, making him all furious and disorientated. He struggled more fiercely, but Alfred held him down with his incomparable force. Each failed attempt made him more frustrated and despair.

"Oh trust me, we have heard enough about Prussia's notorious past for the last few days. We all know how authoritative and narrow-minded he can be," said the American while still locking his captive firmly. "He's been poisoning you with his preference of militarism over democracy. He's been leading you on a _special path_ that is disparate from the better part of the world, like us, the Westerners. Prussia_ is _the reason that you are the bad apple of Europe. He has to be removed for you to be pacified, before we can cleanse the undesirable traits of Prussia from you."

"_Fuck no!_" Ludwig swore loudly. "_Leave my brother out of this! I should be responsible for my wrongdoings! Punish me! Punish me, damnit!_" He rammed Alfred into the wall with his shoulder. The American yelped but didn't let go. Arthur jumped in to help while Francis just sat there, watching with distaste as the English speaking countries pinned the German down on the floor with their combined forces.

A second gunshot made Ludwig's heart twitch. Strength was quickly dissipating as he suddenly felt a stunning pain inside his body as if a part of his flesh and bones was torn from him. He screamed and squirmed in agony. His mind was in a blur, so was his vision. Darkness began to fall. Only then did the young empire realized the world ended not with a whimper, but two bangs.

"So it is over," Francis whispered. The other three countries felt it too, not the intense pain, but a mingled feeling of loss and sorrow when a country was gone. Alfred looked at Arthur. It was the first time for the cheerful American to have such an experience. It was not a pleased one, he concluded, and would rather not have it recurred. The English was a little shaking. He took a deep breath and said, "No, it's just a start. We still have Germany to deal with."

"He will be fine," said Alfred, who stretched up, looking down at the unconscious German on the floor. "He's got our help. He will become more liberal-minded just like us. A friend, perhaps."

The door flung open and Ivan strode in, who smelled of blood and gun powder. He grinned as he saw the countries inside.

"Mission accomplished," he beamed, giggling and drank the last drop of Vodka from the bottle he took out of his pocket. "Let's celebrate, _comrades_."

Francis frowned. He stormed out of the room, shoving the Russian at the door, who in his drunken glee didn't seem to mind such rudeness.

"Well done," said Arthur, "And thank you for doing it for us."

"For you?" Ivan stopped giggling,"What makes you think I did it for you?" He laughed and exited the room. Arthur frowned but held his tongue. He turned to face Alfred, who had had his eye on the Russian since the latter came in.

"Let's go check on Prussia, or what is left of him, just to make sure things have gone accordingly."

"Uhuh," the American answered absent-mindedly, still looking at the direction where Ivan had left. "Ye know, I never truly liked that country. He's weird. I can sense a beast inside him."

"I agree, but he is one of us."

"Doesn't have to be anymore."

One year later.

"Arise, arise from ashes and ruins.

"May you be hearing with my ears, looking with my eyes, speaking with my voice, and thinking with my mind.

"Arise."

The crimson eyes opened, and blinked a few times before turning to see the tall figure sitting beside his bed. He seemed confused when their eyes made contact. His mind was in a complete turmoil.

"Who are you?" He asked.

Ivan smiled. "The name is Soviet, but I also used to be known as _Russia_."

The last name rang a bell to him. He frowned, trying to sort out his mind. An obscure image flashed and soon disappeared in the dark water of his chaotic thoughts.

"You don't...look like Russia," he said hesitantly.

"I changed," Ivan said, "Do you remember who you are?"

"I am-" he trailed off, shocked and unnerved. "I am-" he tried again. The random images in his mind slid off as easily as sand in a grip. He paused, obviously in panic. "I don't remember."

"Don't worry. I have got it for you," Ivan said, still smiling. The violet eyes looked into the crimson ones.

"You are Germany."

"Germany?" He echoed that name, a nostalgic familiarity suddenly immersed him as the letters one by one danced on the tip of his tongue. With a soft sigh, he smiled and repeated the name again. "Germany," he cooed to himself, chuckling. The name brought up a warm feeling that would have melted his heart.

Then he realized he didn't have a heart. How strange.

"Thank you," he looked at Ivan, "for telling me who I am." He even smiled at the Russian, who returned with a smile after a moment of surprise.

"You're welcome," said Ivan, who stood up from the chair. "You need more rest before I introduce you to the world." He then looked down at him, his long fingers brushing through the other's white hair.

"I'm glad you are back. You're going to be _my_ Germany from now on. Mine, and no one else's," he grinned, "Let us begin anew, shall we?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note: _

_Are you surprised? I am. I didn't think I would rewrite it again and be satisfied with but then it just happened. I don't know why, and even don't know how. It just...happened. I started rewriting it yesterday and got it finished this afternoon. AND I LOVE IT. Yes, I'm very satisfied with this chapter. Perhaps because the previous drafts were just way too bad?  
Let me know if you like this one. I truely hope you do. Come on, after almost six months of broken promises I must have successfully lowered your threshold of expectation. XD_

_Enjoy!_

_PS: __Ok, I have to admit that all my knowledge of Berlin comes from Google Earth and various maps on the internet. I don't know if there was a river road just beside Spree for trolleys (in 1950), let's pretend there was. Or if you want to you can even pretend that Gilbert, being a country, can manage to achieve things that normal humans can't, such as looking at something 1km away without trouble or finish 200m in 19.19s. :p_

10.

Gilbert stared at his own hands like he had never seen them before. He clenched them into fists, squeezing hard, but still couldn't feel the least bit of strength. He sighed, opening his hands again, resuming his little self-discovery activity. There he had just found a few fading calluses on his left palm, apparently giving way to soft skin. He had no memories of when or how he had gotten them.

Indeed, his memories prior to the day when, almost a year ago, he was introduced to the Eastern European countries by Ivan as Comrade Germany were no more than a blur. Yet now and then he would have bizarre visions of someone else's life. In the flashbacks that "someone" had lived defiantly, taking lows and highs in stride, and laughed out loud when he had managed to survive for another day.

Someone that was definitely not him. Feelings were unstirred as he watched; to Gilbert the visions were merely another stranger's biography, another passage of glorified epitaph engraved on an obsolete tombstone. Eventually he found himself quickly accepted the _given_ fact that he was a newborn country with no past to reminisce about. No past was simply much better than a condemned past, right? Now that he had a new life to build out of ruins and rubble, doubts and concerns regarding a lost past automatically entered the lowest level of hierarchy on his priority list. He had more important things to worry about, just as his Russian companion had pointed out after the introduction,

"Let's make this special moment the very beginning of your existence and this day the first day of your history, my valued Comrade Germany. I hope you will bring your talents to our bloc, be a strong aid to help achieve our ultimate goal, and most of all, be a faithful _friend _to me. Russia always returns favours, good and bad. This time do not make a wrong choice, again."

Sometimes Gilbert would enjoy an outdoor walk in the City of Berlin, wandering around streets and alleys, having a brief break from the hidden ears in his house. Just like now, after receiving another routine complaint from the boss, he desperately needed some fresh air.

The streets were usually quiet since automobiles were scarcely spotted. Pedestrians were walking at a fast pace, either rushing to stores to try to get a front position in the long queue, or rushing home with the limited choices they managed to find in the grocery store after wasting hours waiting in line. Young men in Red Army uniforms were often seen strolling down the pavements around the central area, looking around at buildings and people with curious eyes. As Gilbert walked past two off-duty Soviet soldiers he heard them chuckling, and one was speaking to his friend in Russian, "Look at the amazing long lineup! It's making me homesick."

Gilbert shrugged, and walked on. He was continually outpaced by other fast walkers but was not eager to catch up with their strides. He couldn't even if he wanted to. The old injuries on his ankles crippled him still. With exercise he could at least pretend to walk like a normal person but only in slow pace. The wounds were a valuable lesson, another _given_ fact from Ivan, a lesson that had taught him never to disobey the Big Brother Soviet.

"You see, my dear Comrade Germany, you have this disgusting trait of betraying that requires me to take precaution against. There was once a country that had managed to rise from a devastating defeat and a total humiliation. He came back and rose higher, and France learned it the hard way. I am no fool, and I am certainly not France. I know you like no one else does. You are only timid when you are down at heel, so why not keep you the way you are?"

This almost made Gilbert laugh. How ridiculous. It was Ivan who said he was a freshly new country starting from scratch; it was also him kept judging Gilbert by someone else's past. But then again, the Russian himself was full of contradictions. Perhaps he should as well learn to live with such ambivalence just like he had adapted to long queues and occupation troops. After all, who was he to argue when he was nothing but a pathetic "down at heel" country?

Gilbert turned left and saw a trolley come to a stop. He hopped on the trolley, paid for the fare, and found himself a comfortable spot by the window. He watched as the trolley driving down the road, leaving streets and buildings far behind. Many were rebuilt from the ruins after the war, yet a number of them were still left unattended. One of such remains suddenly came to his view, with the broken widows gazing back at him like the hollow eye-sockets of a decayed corpse, soundlessly screaming the sins of the past. Gilbert watched silently till the building, like many others, was left behind.

And then he finally saw it.

On the other side of the River Spree, for centuries being watched over by the Cathedral, was the City Palace where the kings of Prussia and their families had used to live and rule from, where there had been robust grenadiers in their Prussian Blue uniforms parading through the plaza with children watching and cheering, where decisions of reformation had been made to ensure the country would survive and prosper, where the name of Prussia had been given the highest regards in each and every toast, where he had once been deeply loved.

And it was all gone when the Palace was bulldozed the day before. Gilbert recalled this morning as he was taken to the boss's office and given a memo.

"The City Palace was the very symbol of Prussian Militarism that should not be allowed to continue existing in the new world," said the boss pointedly, "In this modern age we do not want to see the infamous Prussia's ghost still lingering in our cities. There are street names to be changed, sculptures to be removed, and the City Palace to be replaced by the People's Palace where model citizens can enjoy some quality time with their loved ones after hard work. Prussia was the bane of Germany. After its bad influence gets completely cleansed from our country we are then ready to be the humble follower of the new faith. Our Soviet friends would be happy as well."

"As you say, sir," was the only reply Gilbert could give.

The trolley stopped at red light as Gilbert gazed out at the rubble of the City Palace. The demolition team was still there to clean out the debris of the once magnificent palace. The Allies' bombs started the destruction, and the Germans' bulldozers finished the job.

Out of sudden Gilbert felt as though he was engulfed by the maelstrom of emptiness. He had thought he might feel something when he saw the tragic end of the palace, instead he felt nothing. The bitter-sweet memories lying with the palace were not his. It had shared glories with Prussia, not with him. Prussia was dead. He was alive. He was, well, he was Germany, albeit only one third in size. The palace, after all, was just another relic from an unwanted past, another grotesque that would bring up people's resentful feelings of the abolished iron kingdom. Perhaps it was best to be removed from public view.

The trolley started moving again, and the view of the rubble was soon blocked by buildings and trees on this side of the river. Gilbert stared at the window, another him staring back from the glass.

"I'm here. You're gone," he whispered. His reflection mouthed these words in dead silence.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the countries (although I wish!). This story is not for commercial purpose. Please don't sue. _

11.

Gilbert shuddered as he heard the first angry cry from the crowd; just like the first drop of rain, in the blink of an eye it would soon turn into a whipping storm.

Having decided he could not just sit in his room and pretend not to notice what was going on outside, he left his desk and went downstairs as fast as he was able. When he opened the door he saw Ivan was about to knock.

"Come with me," without usual greetings the Russian gave an order rather hastily. Knowing better than to argue, Gilbert complied without a word, and soon found himself sitting beside Ivan in his bulky black car. Pretending to look out at the passing street view, Gilbert slyly studied Ivan from the reflection of the window. He looked tense, and much excited comparing to his normal careless attitude. His left hand was assumingly playing a short Cossack song on his left knee, while his right hand hid in his pocket all the time. By the size of the pocket, Gilbert was sure the thing held in his hand could probably inflict great pain to someone's body.

And he had no intention to be this someone.

Gilbert squeezed himself tightly into the corner of the back seat, leaving at least five inch space in between. Fortunately, Ivan did not pay attention to this unwelcoming posture, or if he had noticed, he did not bother to point it out and give him another lesson on camaraderie. He seemed as if he had completely forgotten he was accompanied by another country. By the look in his icy eyes, Gilbert gave up inquiring about their destination.

At least, it was not a difficult guess.

Noises on the streets became louder as they drove toward the center of the city. More and more people were now coming to the streets like streams run into sea. All cars had to slow down, and some horned to show respect and support. People were walking or running, some holding up slogans they had made over night. Everyone was moving to the same direction, Under den Linden, the famous street that connects Brandenburg Gate to the former City Palace, now just the ruins where the People's Palace would be built on.

Ivan smiled.

Suddenly, Gilbert felt as if his chest was clutched by a steel hand. Rolling down the window, he shouted to the crowd: "Go back! Return to your homes! Clear the street, now!"

Some looked at him and grinned, others ignored him and kept on walking.

"Listen! Please, listen!" Gilbert shouted again, this time more anxious, "You won't accomplish anything here! Leave your government to solve the problem. Let your country help you!"

A man scorned.

"This is not 'our' government. This puppet will only do what his big brother Russia tells him to do. We've had enough! I need to feed my family and I need a higher pay!"

"And this country, bah," another man followed, "is not any better! We work like dogs but what we get? I could find more stuff in the grocery store before the war! This country is not protecting us. It takes away more things than it gives."

"Better to live in the other Germany," a voice in the crowd chipped in, and quite many agreed.

Gilbert was dumbfounded. He wasn't unaware of the resentment in his people, but not like this, not when others confronted him in such an upfront manner. It felt like a punch right in the stomach. He felt sick.

Ivan watched with no mercy in his cold eyes. Seeing Gilbert devastated, he laughed lightly.

"That's people," he said, "never satisfied, always ask for more. There's only one solution to this, which has proved to be very effective in other occasions. Now, here we are."

The car pulled to a stop. Streams of people marched hand in hand, singing and chanting, with hope and valour shining in their eyes. A couple students set up a record player on the side, playing songs to encourage and inspire others.

And it would all be destroyed.

Gilbert stood on the sidewalk and watched in silence. With each minute passed his hands became colder. He could feel the trembling of the ground as tanks closing in. Trucks with loads of Red Army soldiers were coming this way. The smell of gunpowder was already in the air.

So familiar.

He would not allow himself to think back and dig the roots of this familiarity, yet he could not stop shivering. He was drowning, again, in the lake of icy water. With no help, nor hope.

"Please," he clenched his teeth, "Let me handle this. They will go home in peace. I promise."

"With what?" Ivan stared into his eyes, "We've seen how your persuasion worked back there."

"I'll try harder. They'll listen."

Ivan sniggered. "They won't. They don't love you. You see, a country not loved by his own people always has to resort to a more radical approach to get them timid. You are either loved or feared. This is how we do things."

With that he drew out his right hand, pointed the pistol to the sky and pulled the trigger. The marching people paused at the sound for a minute, and as they looked around, soldiers appeared.

The bloody mayhem began.

People screamed as tanks rode down many of the unarmed demonstrators. After the tanks the army and police force marched in, taking down civilians with guns and truncheons. People crying and running off to different directions, some of them fell and never got up.

Gilbert could not stand it any longer. He turned to Ivan.

"Stop, please," he begged, "Make it stop! This city has already seen too much blood."

"Why do you care? I've got the killing licence practically handed to me in a silver plate from your boss. If he doesn't mind, why should you?"

"They are my people, damn it!"

"You're such a fool, my dear Comrade. It is pointless to love when there's no love in return. You're caring for those who do not deserve. Have you ever counted the number of those traitors who in the past few years ran to that Fascist Germany? Did you forget what they said when we came here? You _are_ the better Germany because I rebuilt you. I redesigned you with the perfect ideology. If these laymen can't show appreciation, let them be gone." Ivan chuckled, quite happily, "Indeed, we don't need those who can't play along."

"No!" Cries, screams, and weeps were tearing him apart. There must be something he could do to help. What kind of country would he be if he should allow such massacre to happen on his land? "No. They can hate me all they want. Despise me, run away from me. It's all their choice. But it's not in my power to do the same to them. Without people there is no country. They are the only reason why I still exist. "

"Wrong. _I_ am the only reason of your existence," Ivan corrected patiently, as if teaching a toddler to walk, "I'm the maker of you. My wish is your command. You live for me, and me alone. You should think of me and only me, for I am able to not only make you but also unmake you. You would try you best to make me happy, just like your boss does. And yet, I am very disappointed."

He moved closer, pistol in hand, with his finger still resting on the trigger. Gilbert thought of stepping back, yet he could not move. The smell of gunpowder from this country unnerved him. A silhouette flashed through his mind, and he felt pain, pain from wounds that were not there.

_Pain is not your enemy._

A voice whispered and dissipated in wind. Gilbert stared at the gun, still as stone.

"I thought of granting you freedom before this happens," said Ivan, "I asked for this favour, although others still had doubts. I trusted you. You were the good one, as I assured them, not the Fascist pig in the west. You were the good, reliable, _comrade_." He smiled, bitterly, "It seems I have overestimated your boss's crisis management ability, as well as your loyalty."

"My loyalty is-"

"Faked, of course. This is one of your little dirty tricks, isn't it? As a country you know what happens on this land; no one could hide anything from you. You knew the dissidents had schemes. You knew who the leaders were. Yet you chose not to report. Are you hoping to see the uprising overthrow this government we set up for you, whom you only pretend to side with?"

Gilbert went silent for a moment before he gathered up to speak.

"What else do you expect me to say if you have already condemned me? Look around," the street was getting quieter as people by now were either dragged to the trucks and taken away or lying on the ground soundlessly. Only a few lucky ones managed to escape the devastation. "I am damned for what has just happened. My people will always remember that on this day, their country stood aside and let it happen. If you wish to unmake me, do it now as no one will be dismayed when it's done. You would do the world a favour."

Ivan squinted as he studied Gilbert carefully. Out of blue, it seemed as if he had found new interesting ideas. Licking his lips, he nodded.

"That's the spirit," he said in a light-hearted tone, "Just as I thought you were becoming dull and boring like all the other mindless drones in our bloc. Defiant, yes, but very subtle. You're testing my patience. And you're clever enough to choose the right moment to do it to avoid punishment." He drew even closer, the hand holding the pistol touching the other's cheek gently, fingers running through his white hair. "I haven't got a new boss since March. Your petit treason will probably go unnoticed while the watch dogs in Moscow are biting each other to be on top. I'll let this one slip, as the reward for your cleverness."

A sudden heavy blow to the ear made Gilbert let out a short cry in excruciating pain. He fell to the ground, feeling as if a bomb was exploding in his head.

"And this is for you to remember, Russia does not have patience for tricks."Ivan smiled sweetly, obviously taking pleasure in watching him in pain, "Bear in mind, you're too weak to succeed, and I intend to keep you so."

Far away, someone accidentally knocked over the record player. The tonearm was switched and another song was played. Among the painful groans, desperate shrieks, sporadic gunshots, and military shouts in Russian and German, a woman's voice was singing the national anthem of this new born country, a sorrowful melody with the saddened wish of returning to the fatherland, and a hope that was buried under the ruins, waiting to be remembered one day.

* * *

Note: "Fascist Germany" was how West Germany was referred to sometimes in the Soviet bloc (especially in Russia and occasionally in East Germany as well). For some reason they believed that DDR was cleansed of Fascism (might be because it was "reborn" into a communist country?). It was also how the young East Germans were taught in school. Would be interesting if one could compare the history textbooks used in DDR and BRD. ;P


End file.
